


See You Again

by UncleNansi



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Age Shifts, Angst, Bad Bob's brash decisions, Cat Depression, Cats being cute as fuck, Character Death, Crime, Discussion of Heavy Themes, Found Family, Ghost Activity, Hauntings, Heavy Themes, Jocks being cute as fuck with cats, Multi, Murder, Other, Past Child Abuse, Posthumous Frienships, adopted family, bad bob practices witchcraft the fanfic, mention of overdose
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-13 16:41:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10517718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UncleNansi/pseuds/UncleNansi
Summary: "Kent’s touched, really; but the only real tragedy he sees is the hideous gray suit they bury him in."or,The death of Kent Parson.





	1. When I die, bury me inside the Gucci store

**Author's Note:**

> all warnings and tags are subject to change??? so please check them periodically. I will post any major trigger warnings in the notes at the beginning as well. this shit is written super light-heartedly but shit does get dark and angsty!!! like, a lot!! idk this is kind of experimental tbh so nothing is written in stone. also, let me know if you have any questions? ill try and answer with as little spoilers as possible. but there are some parts that were confusing as fuck to write and im having to come up with a whole set of rules for how ghosts interact with humans so.
> 
> thanks to my lovely friends for beta reading and encouraging this mess
> 
> EDIT: yall can talk to me on r0wdie.tumblr.com if u wanna

They call Kent’s death a tragedy.

 

He slips off the road in a blizzard he had no business driving in. He’s found a good 20 minutes after he wraps his car around a tree, unconscious since impact. The ambulance is fast, and the doctors try their best; but it’s all pointless in the end. The next morning the world wakes up without him in it. Every sports show, website, radio, magazine has something to say about him. _‘Gone too young_.’ _‘Such a tragedy.’ ‘A great loss.’_  

 

Kent’s touched, really; but the only real tragedy he sees is the hideous gray suit they bury him in.

 

It washes him out, and it’s too big. It certainly doesn’t match the beautiful coffin his mother picked out. The slick black and lined with beautiful, violet velvet coffin. Kent would have looked _amazing_ in his custom all black, tailored Gucci suit with the champagne lining, and the crisp black button up and tie he got specifically because it was the right shade of black. Even with his corpse being battered and bruised and there being visible stitches on the side of his head, he would have looked great. Sexy, even. If he hadn’t been a corpse.

 

He didn’t get to leave his after-death plans. Since he died a few months after turning 30 and had expected to get another 60 years to figure all that out. Kent thinks he told Troy that he wanted to be cremated and dumped into the desert, and then for there to be a huge, classy party somewhere in downtown New York or something. He certainly didn’t want the full Catholic, open-casket _bullshit_ he’s sitting through now.

 

Really, Kent probably doesn’t need to be here. But he had followed his body from where he had died outside of Boston all the way back up to Montreal. It had been easy; as he had soon discovered that despite still being on the same plane as he had existed in before, he couldn’t actually be seen or heard by anyone. There were a few babies and some old people that had glanced in his direction twice. But no one had questioned him sneaking onto the plane they shipped his body in and stealing food and snacks. (He isn’t sure he actually ate those things. He hadn’t felt hungry before or full afterwards.) And no one stopped him from climbing into the hearse and wandering into the morgue that he had been stored in.

 

Everything had seemed to wash over him until the morgue. It had been hard to watch his mother identify him. And it had been harder yet to watch the morticians put him in that _fucking travesty_ of a suit. His mother had requested no make-up. And Kent had sworn at her because most of his face was bruised. He looked awful, and he had little cousins who would be at his funeral. She wouldn’t have listened to him even if she could hear him. She never did listen to him. Which is why, as much of a disappointment this shitty funeral is, it isn’t a surprise.

 

Kent watches from the choir balcony of the church he’s been going to ever since _Elliott_ moved Kent and his mom up to Quebec when he was seven. It’s big, and it doesn’t look much like a Catholic church. But the mass is _tres catholique_ , about two hours long, and completely in French aside from the Latin prayers. Which Kent is just going to take as the last “fuck you, Kent Parson” that the world will dish out.

 

Despite his funeral being the biggest drag of the century, Kent can’t really complain about being dead so far. He feels lighter than he has in ages. There’s a persistent feeling of calm and inevitability. No stress as he wanders about, no fear or worry as he watches life continue on around him. He’s almost concerned that this is all a dream and he’s gonna wake up feeling like shit in a hospital bed. But there’s that calm hand at the back of his head nudging him towards the truth: He’s dead as a doornail.

 

Even an unstressed, unaffected Kent still feels frustration when he peers down into the nave below him. People are filing in, some of which he surely doesn’t know, all of which will certainly have _great_ stories to share about him. Most swing around the side of the nave to see his casket—sitting in a small enclave—to say goodbye before taking a seat in the pews. Because apparently, _someone_ couldn’t spring for a wake like you’re supposed to. Despite said person being very much able to afford it.

 

Katherine and Elliot are in the front pew, accepting condolence after condolence and looking stoic and poised as ever. His grandpa Joe is also there, but he probably thinks he’s just at Sunday Mass. Kent wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t recognize his grandson in the coffin. There are little cousins in the back pews, far away from the coffin. Which is good. Kent doesn’t want them seeing that shit.

 

His team is there, which is extremely touching considering they’re in the middle of the season. Some other players he had befriended have shown up too. They’re all crying and it’s probably the rawest emotion Kent has seen from hockey players. And he’s won the Stanley Cup three times. It’s a bit weird, if he must say so. Not as weird as the people kissing his forehead and touching his hand.

 

It’s a fucking dead body, like, holy shit. Plus, his face is _gnarly_.

 

Kent does a double take as the Zimmermann’s walk into the hall. Alicia, Bob, Jack, and even Jack’s cute boyfriend Eric are all looking a bit dazed and out of place. Kent wouldn’t have ever guessed they’d show up to his funeral. He talked to Bob and Alicia, but still the whole thing with Jack was fucked. And sure, Jack and he had been on _better_ terms but he wouldn’t have called it _good_. He feels anxious, for the first time since he’s died. And the sensation comes on stronger than he remembered it feeling.

 

He watches on the edge of his seat as the family enters and slips into the crowd. Bob has a tight arm around his wife as they make their way to his casket, and Kent can see both of them wipe at their eyes. Jack is crying too, while Eric holds his non-casted hand and leans in to speak to him.

 

Kent’s chest gets tight; suddenly, this is too much to watch. All of these people here to mourn him. Kent’s dead body laying stiff and cold. He’s dead. He’s never coming back. This funeral, the grief that these people feel, all of it is very real, and Kent can feel the weight and finality of it all. He gets out of his seat and makes his way out of the balcony, into the halls of the church. There are a few offices on the top level, and some small meeting rooms for youth group or planning committees. All are empty now.

 

As Kent wanders he can’t help but feel like there are important things for him to be doing. He can’t just be here for no reason right? He should be asking _questions_. Finding _truths_. Like, why is he still here? Why aren’t there any other dead people? Is this all there is to death? Despite his questions, the all-knowing presence that guided him out of shock of seeing his own body and dashed his doubts is nowhere to be found. And Kent is lost for the first time after dying. He didn’t know what to do if someone dies. Let alone if _he_ dies. There’s literally nothing to prepare you for that.

 

Or maybe not. He’s seen movies. Maybe there was something fishy about his death. Maybe he has unfinished business. Maybe he’s here to be someone’s guardian angel. Although that’s unlikely since the only thing Kent could take care of was Kit—

 

Kit.

 

“Fuck,” Kent stops in his tracks. “Shit.”

 

Kit was still in Vegas. His parents hadn’t gone down there and even if they did they’d probably just drop her off at the first shelter they find. _Dammit_ , she’d been alone for a few days now. He hoped the cat sitter wasn’t busy and was still willing to feed her some. Sam would have heard about his death. With her being a hockey fan and all. And a living person with access to the world around her.

 

He needed to go check. He needed to go to Vegas. And, _dammit_ , he was dead now! Why couldn’t he like fly or float there? So far Kent had been stuck walking around like the average fool.

 

The hand nudges him in the back of his head, and ideas take shape in his head with ease. With calm and confidence, Kent screws his eyes shut and pictures himself, standing in the church. In his mind’s eye, he sees himself floating up through the roof, over Quebec, over the forests on the Canada border. Lake Superior, the Great Plains, fields and fields of crops, and then the Southwest and the desert. The expanses of red look so real, like his imagination got an upgrade. He can picture Vegas glittering in the sun, and his street, and his apartment building down to the tiny details. And he floats down into his apartment.

 

Kent doesn’t actually feel his body lift up and the rush of wind in his hair, so he sighs with a sense of failure. The hand is gone, and there’s no more step to take.

 

When Kent opens his eyes he’s in his apartment. And at his feet, bumping at his ankles, is a very happy and excited Kit.

 

“Hey, Baby Girl,” he coos.

 

Kent crouches down, and he’s able to touch her and feel her silky fur. She purrs under his hand and goes limp when he picks her up.

 

“I can hold you, huh?” Kent takes a moment to just hold her, relishing in the small blessing of her familiar weight against his chest. He hadn’t thought about it before, but not being able to see Kit again would have been a hard pill to swallow.

 

Kent is still on a mission though, and he quickly regains himself and carries her into the kitchen, “Do you have food, Baby? Has Sam been feeding you still?”

 

She has food left and water, which seems odd. Even if she had been fed today. Kent doesn’t miss the way she’s yowling and butting her head into him. She clings to him, and he could pull his arms away and she’d still be hanging on. He doesn’t try though, because he doesn’t take chances with Kit. So, he holds her tightly and takes her back to the living room.

 

“Alright, Sweetie. Who d’ya want to take care of you?” Fuck, he never thought he’d have to worry about this. There truly isn’t anybody else worthy of taking care of Kit. No one on the team, and outside of the boys there isn’t really anyone else in his life.

 

He figures that Sam will have some more connections, _and_ make the right choices. Now he just has to figure out how to convey that to the living. He sets Kit down, and she just grabs at his leg and meows at him. It’s heartbreaking, but what’s more heartbreaking is thinking about Kit getting sent to a shelter to end up euthanized or with people who won’t take care of her.

 

Kent goes to pick up a pen on the kitchen counter, but his fingers can’t seem to grip it easily.

 

“Hm,” he stares at it for a second. Focuses on the pen a lot like how he focused on going to Vegas. Then, he moves to pick it up again. His fingers are able to pinch it, feel the cool plastic, but it’s heavy when he tries to lift. Kent can only lift it for a second, about an inch off the counter, before the pen slips from his grip and clatters to the granite.

 

“What the fuck,” he whispers, and tries again. Over and over he tries to pick up the pen. Even when he puts all of his focus on it he can’t seem to get it. And he can’t pick up the pad of paper beside it either. He can knock them around much easier, and he sends the pen clattering for Kit to chase after. That won’t help him write a message though.

 

“Aren’t I supposed to get some kind of book that tells me what the rules are?” Kent mutters, marching out of the kitchen. “Make someone sing Harry Belafonte…” He kicks a toy of Kits. It should have flown across the apartment, but it only moves a few inches instead. He focuses on another, closes his eyes and thinks about moving it. It goes farther then, rattling down the hall with Kit padding after it.

 

Back in the kitchen, Kent squats by Kit’s water bowl to see if there is any spill he can write in. There isn’t (because Kit is a neat little lady) but when he dips his hand in the water he finds he can splash in it no problem. Manipulating the spill doesn’t take much either. Not the best way to leave a wordy message, but good to know.

 

An idea forming in his head, Kent jumps up and hurries to the hall. If he can steam up the bathroom, he might be able to communicate some more. That doesn’t mean he’ll be able to draw up a legal document regarding his cat. But it’s a start.

 

The bathroom door proves to be a challenge however. Kent hurries to open it and his forehead bounces off with a loud bang instead. Kent doesn’t feel the pain, just a strange reverberating in his head. Which, bonus. But he’s still stuck on this side of the door. Kit comes to check on him, tries to climb up his pant leg again.

 

Kent closes his eyes and pictures the bathroom. This time he doesn’t think of flying or anything. Just pictures the bathroom, and then being _in_ the bathroom. When he opens his eyes, he’s there. And Kit’s paws are poking out from under the door. He turns on the light, which is easy. And turns on the faucet, which is also easy. It’s nice, but so far he has no rhyme or reason as to why some things are okay and others aren’t. Kent lets the hot water run, and steam starts to fill the room and fog up the glass. Sure enough, he can draw a smiley face without a hitch.

 

Good to know, but he’s still far from getting Kit secured and safe. Kent shuts off the water and the lights, and is able to zip back into the hall in a blink. Kit meows happily at his reappearance, and Kent squats to give her a scratch under her chin.

 

“I can’t take care of you, Baby Girl. We gotta find someone else to take care of you now.” He shifts to lay on the floor next to her, and buries his face in her fur. “I’m dead, Sweetie. I can’t take care of you.”

 

Kit makes a soft “mrow” sound.

 

Kent raises his head, “You still love me, huh?”

 

Kit bumps her nose against his in response.

 

There’s rattling at the front door, and before Kent can think of what to do, Sam is in his apartment. He freezes on impulse, but as Sam walks into the hall to scoop Kit into her arms she doesn’t even look twice at Kent.

 

“You aren’t eating your food, Kit… Do you miss your dad?” She holds Kit close, kissing her on the head. Kit meows at her in response as they walk back into the kitchen. Kent hurries to follow. Maybe, if he tries, he can read Sam’s mind or something.

 

She certainly doesn’t notice Kent as he waves his hands in front of her face and even tries to touch her. When he tries to press onto her he meets resistance, much like when he was picking up the pen.

 

“I don’t know, Kit. I’d take you home with me, and the lawyer said that’s okay. But I don’t think I can afford another kitty right now.” Sam lingers on the food dish again before heading to the living room. Kent hurries after, trying to knock things off the counter, the table, the couch. Anything to alert Sam of his presence.

 

“I’m scared to post online… I’d rather find someone I already know who will take good care of you.” Sam huffs and holds Kit tight, falling on the couch and cuddling the cat. “What would your daddy want, huh?”

 

Kent is incredibly grateful that he has the best cat sitter ever at that moment. But, he never takes a chance with Kit.

 

Like he did with the pen and the bathroom, Kent stares at the back of Sam’s head and thinks about her seeing him. He pictures her turning around and seeing him standing there in his head.

 

Sam tenses a little, Kent gasps. She slowly looks around, but she stares right through him.

 

“Hello?” Sam calls, letting Kit jump from her lap. Kit totters up to Kent and sits at his feet, looking up at him.

 

“Wh-What are you staring at, Kit?” Sam is on her feet, glancing between Kent and Kit.

 

Kent keeps trying to make himself visible. Thinks, _See me, see me, see me_ over and over. He screws his eyes shut, imagines all of the strength in his body powering the thought. Pulls every meditation trick he’s learned over the years. Pours the frustration and determination swirling through him into that one thought.

 

When he opens his eyes, Sam is shivering from cold. Her eyes are wide with fear as they flit around. But she still doesn’t see him.

 

“Alright, Kit. I’ll come back tomorrow and hopefully we can find someone to take care of you.” She turns to leave the apartment, hastily heading towards the door. Kent swears, she _can’t_ leave yet. Kent hasn’t even talked to her yet!

 

“ _Wait_!” Kent says, racing after her. He nearly bumps into her when she freezes abruptly in front of the mirror by his door.

 

She’s staring at it. Kent glances in the mirror as well, and their eyes meet. He swears that she’s actually seeing him. She _must_ be.

 

Kit meows and bumps up against Kent’s ankle. Sam all but runs out the door and slams it behind her before Kent can keep trying to get through to her.

 

“Shit,” Kent hisses, dropping to the floor, “Well, at least if all else fails. Sam will find somewhere for you to go. But…” He looks down at Kit, who promptly climbed into his lap and started purring loudly.

 

“But that’s not enough, Baby Girl.”

 

Before he can start racking his brain for anyone capable of taking care of his cat there’s a small tugging at the back of Kent’s mind. It’s like the gentle, nudging from before. Telling him that he was okay, that he was dead. But instead of a calming hand resting on his head, it’s like someone has grabbed a bit of his hair and is pulling on it.

 

Following his instincts, Kent closes his eyes and lets the pull take him. Kit’s yowling stops and the air changes around him. When he opens his eyes, he’s in the doorway of Bad Bob’s office. Staring at the man himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All I want for my birthday is a big booty ho  
> When I die, bury me inside the Gucci store  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y34jC4I1m70


	2. My lonely heart calls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for an argument? bad communication?? people argue and its not bad at all but i dont want anyone to feel uncomfortable and i wont assume to know anyones triggers. please let me know if i should provide a better warning for this chapter (as well as all chapters from here on in and for the rest of time tbh)

“They’ve been out there for a while,” Bob observes, watching Jack and Eric from the kitchen window. The pair are sitting by the “pond” Bob makes every winter in the backyard, huddled close together.

 

“It’s good,” Alicia says, washing dishes at the sink. “I’m sure Jack has a lot of things to talk about.”

 

“That doesn’t sound like him at all,” Bob mumbles.

 

Alicia laughs at that. The sound loud and bright, piercing through the fog hanging over the house. Bob walks over to her, drawn to her with gratitude.

 

“Are you okay, Bobby?” Alicia asks as Bob wraps his arms around her from behind.

 

He hangs on for a moment, head fitting perfectly on her shoulder. “I will be,” he says eventually. “Are you?”

 

Alicia shrugs, “I will be.” Bob hangs on to her, relishing the feel of her solid warmth against his chest. 

 

“Let me know if that changes, eh?” he whisper, pressing a kiss to her temple. “I’ll be in the office.”

 

The office is _both_ Bob and Alicia’s, always has been. But it’s still covered with hockey pictures and a good corner of it is full of hockey trophies and awards Bob and Jack have won.

 

Kent had sort of shown up one day, peeking into the office and gazing at all the trophies. He asked an insane amount of questions and drove Bob up the wall. And just like that he was part of the family.

 

Bob falls in the chair in the office, and painfully remembers the fearless way Kent had entered their home. He hadn’t cared that Bob was _Bad Bob_ , or that Jack was _Bad Bob’s son_ ; or at least had never let on that he had.

 

Bob turns in his desk chair and looks over the pictures on the wall. Some from his hockey days, but a lot more of the family. One with Kent in it, standing on the ice next to Jack with their cheeks red from skating and hair wet with sweat. Bob feels a sudden tightness in his chest and a stinging in his eyes. It strikes him again that Kent is _gone_ , irrevocably snuffed from the world.

 

 _‘A damn shame,’_ Bob thinks to himself, hands shaky and eyes full of tears.

 

He turns back around in his desk and swears he can see Kent standing in the door of his office, ready to ask him a stupid question. He laughs, reaching for a tissue from the box across the desk, and takes a second look.

 

Kent’s still there.

 

Bob wipes the wet from his eyes with the tissue, “Kent?”

 

Ho-ly _shit_ , he’s still there.

 

“Kent.” Bob jumps to his feet. “What? How?!”

 

Kent doesn’t say anything, but his shocked stare splits into a devilish grin. He points towards the back door and starts running down the hall.

 

“Wait!” Bob cries, racing after him. Kent moves like he’s not even trying, slipping through the house in silence. He ducks through the kitchen and to the mudroom. He disappears there though. Bob catches himself on the doorway to the mudroom, gasping for breath.

 

“Bob? What’s wrong?” Alicia calls.

 

“Nothing!” He steps forward and pulls open the door. Barely thinking enough to slip into some rain boots still laying out.

 

Kent isn’t outside. Or rather, not anymore. But as Bob staggers forward, looking around and up, anywhere to find where Kent has gone, he stumbles upon writing in the snow.

 

With a gasp, Bob looks down, reading the message. In big letters, like they were written by someone dragging their foot through the snow, it reads “KIT.”

 

Bob sucks in huge breaths, heart pounding from tearing through the house and a decent amount of fear. Kit. Kit was Kent’s cat, with the Instagram. Kent had loved that thing, she was maybe what Kent and Bob had talked about most.

 

“Papa, what are you doing? It’s freezing out here!” Bob looks to Jack, who is quickly approaching. “What are you looking at?”

 

Bob watches Jack approach, then looks back to the message. In panic, he starts kicking up the snow to hide the writing. “N-Nothing! Nothing at all?”

 

“Papa, what the hell are you doing?” Jack is beside him now, but it’s too late. All he’s got to look at is the snow that Bob has mussed up.

 

He huffs, “Kent’s cat.”

 

Jack stares at the snow, brow furrowed and eyes narrowed. “Kit?” he finally says. “What about her?”

 

Bob waits for Jack to look up at him. “I have to go to Vegas,” he breathes.

 

Jack stares at him for a moment. “What?”

 

Bob turns and stomps through the snow back into the house. “I have to go get Kit!” he calls over his shoulder.

 

“Get who now?” Eric says to Jack. Who is frozen on the spot, mouth hanging open.

 

“Papa, wait! Why?!”

 

Alicia is standing in the mudroom, staring at him with a grimace as Bob walks in. Jack and Bitty are right behind. “Bobby, what on _earth_ are you doing?” she cries.

 

Bob slips out of the rain boots—which he realizes are Alicia’s and pinching his feet—and tries his best to shake the snow from his pant legs. “I have to go to Vegas.” he says, straightening up to look her in the eye. “I’m going to go get Kent’s cat.”

 

“Uh, what?” she steps back to stare up at him as he steps under the doorway, stunned.

 

Jack rips off his scarf, “Mom, you can’t let him do this.”

 

“I can make my own decisions, Jack.” Bob says, not sparing him a glance. “I’m not _that_ old.” Bob moves past Alicia to head upstairs, mentally creating a packing list already.

 

“You’re about to just hop on a plane for some cat. Do you even know how to take care of a cat?!” Jack is right behind him, raising his voice and making it ring through the house.

 

Bob can’t help but roll his eyes, “I’m sure the internet will help me. But I have the basic gist of it, yes.”

 

He’s managed to get into his room without Jack tackling him and sending him to a nursing home, so he grabs some luggage from the closet and throws it on the bed to start packing.

 

“Papa, seriously, wait…” Jack is in the doorway now, watching with trepidation as Bob packs.

 

Bob turns to him, gives him his full attention. “Jack… _someone’s_ gotta do it.”

 

“How about Kent’s parents?” Jack offers.

  
Bob raises an eyebrow, “You have met the Parsons, right?”

 

Jack sighs, frustration back in full force, “His cousins? A teammate? Someone in Vegas?! Someone who doesn’t have to fly across a continent just to pick up a damn cat! For someone you barely even know anymore?!”

 

Bob swears under his breath and goes back to packing. He can’t blame Jack for getting upset about this. This is… ridiculous. _Don’t worry, son, your ex-boyfriend’s ghost came to me and told me to go get his cat. It’s fine_. He can’t tell Jack that, no way.

 

“I just—I want to do this, alright?” Bob says, resigned. He gives Jack a sad look.

 

Jack narrows his eyes, “Why?”

 

“I mean—I just want to—It’s the least I can do!”

 

Jack shakes his head, drags two heavy hands over his tired eyes—a habit he got from Bob. “Alright. Sure. I guess. Just. This is… You’re dropping everything to go get some cat. You realize why I’m…”

 

“Not just _some_ cat,” Bob says, slipping past Jack to go to the master bathroom. “ _Kent’s_ cat.”

 

Bob hears Jack let out a sarcastic laugh as he gathers the basic toiletries. “Sure. _Kent’s_ cat.”

 

When Bob comes back out Jack is sitting on the bed, scowling at the floor. Bob continues packing, not willing to push any harder. He gathers a carry-on, double checks his packing.

 

“When was the last time you talked to Kenny?” Jack says, voice rough and quiet.

 

Bob stills, phone charger half-way in his bag. “I talked to Kent a lot, Jack. Your mother and I both did. He was… family.”

 

Jack’s head hangs a little more, “Are you—Are you okay? Why are you doing this? Why are you really?”

 

With a heavy sigh, Bob goes to Jack’s side and drops onto the bed. He wraps an arm around Jack’s shoulder and pulls him in a bit. “Are you worried I’m having a breakdown?” Bob murmurs into Jack’s hair.

 

His son shrugs.

 

“Maybe I do feel like I let Kent down,” Bob muses. Maybe his vision of Kent was all in his head. Years of hard hits on the ice making his vision unfaithful. “Your mother and I have always talked to Kent, Jack. He’s like…” A second son, Bob wants to say. But the angry look on Jack’s face stops him.

 

“You two _never_ told me that. Did you—Did you not think to ask how that would make me feel?” Jack pulls away so he can look Bob in the eye. “What if I wasn’t comfortable with that?!”

 

“That never mattered, Jack. Kent put his trust in your mother and I to be there for him. So, that’s what we did. I know you two had… fallen out, but I wasn’t going to let him go to Vegas without someone who had his back!”

 

Jack just stares at him in response, angry and hurt look painfully reminiscent of his teenage years. Jack gets to his feet and storms out of the room. Bob, thinks to call after him, but stops himself. He tends to make these things worse. Eric or Alicia will talk to him.

 

* * *

 

 

Even dead, Kent can’t help but flinch away from Jack as he stomps out of the room. The guy can look pretty scary if he wants to; and Kent’s been a little fearful of Jack since the draft. And even before it if he's being honest. He hurries down the hall and slips into his room, his door clicking shut behind him.

 

Kent walks into the master bedroom, and watches Bob finish up his packing. Bob doesn’t notice him, even when Kent sits on the bed. So now must not be a time that Bob can see him. Kent squints his eyes and pushes at Bob’s mind with his own. He doesn’t even have to visualize anymore! Just feel the nebulous extension of himself.

 

When Kent brushes up against Bob he hits a maelstrom of worry and shame, and recoils from it. Kent thinks that might affect Bob’s ability to see him. When Bob saw him before, the man had been adrift in his thoughts. Not worrying and fretting like he is now.

 

Kent lounges on the bed and watches Bob talk to a travel agent about flights that will let him fly with a cat. He laughs when Bob throws his name around, schmoozes with the call reps. As humble as Bob was he wasn’t afraid to get what he wanted with a bit of his fame.

 

Alicia waits at the door, walking into the room while Bob says his final ‘thank you’s. He hangs up, and waits for her to speak. The room is tense and silent, sounds around the house and the breathing of Bob and Alicia painfully loud. Kent feels like he doesn’t belong, but he doesn’t move.

 

“Bob, is everything alright?” Alicia steps forward, but keeps her distance. Giving Bob a clinical and cold look.

 

Bob doesn’t look at her. “Of course.”

 

“Well, you decided to fly to Vegas about 10 minutes ago and just booked a ticket. So, I think that something might be bothering you.”

 

“I have to get Kit,” he responds flatly.

 

Alicia sighs, “Bob, you don’t. Kit can go to a shelter or someone in the area. This isn’t your responsibility.”

  
“I’m going—“

 

“I know, I know.” Alicia throws up her hands, “I’m not saying you shouldn’t. And I’m not trying to stop you. I just want to make sure you’re all right.”

 

Bob is quiet for a moment.

 

“I just want to do this for him,” he finally says. Voice rough.

 

Alicia nods, “Alright, Bob. If you say so.” She takes another step forward, and he reaches for her hand almost immediately.

 

She sits beside him, and rubs slow circles into Bob’s back as the man hunches over and starts to cry.

 

Kent feels close to tears himself.

 

“I’m sure Kent wouldn’t want you to be sad, dear.” Alicia says after letting Bob cry for a while. And Kent notices that she has wet cheeks herself.

 

Bob just starts to sob in response, and Alicia rests her cheek on his shoulder, and wraps her other arm around him.

 

Kent gets a similar feeling to the one he felt at the funeral, something painful and not a thing he wants to look at, and quietly slips off the bed and out of the room, tip-toeing despite having an incorporeal form. He starts to head downstairs, but stops in front of Jack’s door when he hears voices.

 

Hesitating for only a second, Kent blinks into the room.

 

Jack and Bitty are also sitting on the bed, an uncanny mirror of Bob and Alicia down the hall. Bitty has one hand resting on the hard material of Jack’s cast, their fingers managing to touch still, and a strained smile on his face. Jack scowls at his socked feet.

 

“Are you mad that Kent still talked to your parents or are you mad that Bob’s flying to Vegas?” Bitty says, reaching up his free hand to brush through Jack’s hair with his fingers. The action makes his brow furrow a little less.

 

Jack shrugs, “There’s just a lot going on right now, and it’s… I’m in a bad mood.”

 

Bitty’s face flashes with a knowing look and Kent snorts with laughter. Neither of them notice, and Bitty’s face soothes back into understanding. “I know it’s tough sweetheart.”

 

“I had a shitty start to the season and then I’m out with my fucking wrist then…” he clears his throat and eyes brim with tears. “Then… all of this.”

 

There’s quiet for a moment. Jack takes a deep breath and blinks the tears away. Then Bitty speaking in barely more than a whisper, “Should you call Dr. Halco? Do you think talking to her about Kent would help?”

 

Jack’s eyes dry and harden and Kent can see the instant Jack starts getting defensive. He can feel his own irritation twinge at the constipated face he’s making. The face he always made when Kent brought something up Jack didn’t feel like talking about.

 

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Jack says, voice stern. “He’s dead.”

 

 _“Well, fuck you too then,”_ Kent says, but his voice isn’t heard.

 

“Jack, you know that’s not true,” Bitty says.

 

Jack huffs and gets to his feet, “I’m going to go work-out downstairs. I… maybe that will help.” He goes to a duffel on the dresser Kent’s leaning against and starts going through it. Kent watches him for a moment, then at Bitty.

 

Bitty is still sitting on the bed, looking helpless and sad. A heartbreaking pout on his face and his eyebrows scrunched up. His big brown eyes downcast.

 

God, what an asshole Jack could be sometimes! Bitty’s just trying to help and Jack can’t even try to work with him. Just like he’d do before. Kent thought that Jack was supposed to be _better_ about this stuff.

 

Jack starts to pull off his clothes and put on the pants and shirt he picked to work out in. Bitty lets out a deep breath, “Honey, I think you’re just avoiding this.”

 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Jack rushes out.

 

“We don’t have to talk about it right this second, but later we—“

 

“Eric, just drop it,” Jack snaps. Voice sharp and loud.

 

Kent looks to Bitty, waiting for his reaction with his mouth agape.

 

Bitty has a shocked look on his face, but not a hurt one. He scoffs, “I don’t know who you _think_ you’re talking to. But it sure as hell ain’t me.” He’s on his feet, adjusting his shirt than walking to the door with his chin high, “I was just trying to help. But if you want to wallow in your _bullshit_ that’s fine with me. I’ll be here when you’ve cooled off and can act like an _adult_.”

 

Bitty does slam the door when he leaves, making up for his calm tone. And leaves Jack cursing to himself in French.

 

 _“Good job, Zimms,”_ Kent says. _“You’re lame. I’m going to go talk to your boy.”_ In an instant Kent blips downstairs, sitting atop the kitchen counter.

 

Bitty is watching a pot of coffee fill down there. Cool expression on his face. Kent only has admiration for the kid. Sure, Bitty yelled a little, but Kent wouldn’t have been able to let go and leave the situation like that. Kent would have pushed more until there was a _real_ fight. Something solid and real, not some halfsies-nebulous disagreement. That shit drove him crazy.

 

“Dumb boy,” Bitty grumbles, abandoning the coffee to gather a pot and pie tin.

 

“I was just trying to help, he doesn’t need to _yell_ at me for that.” Bitty grabs flour and sugar, cornstarch, salt, and almond extract from the pantry.

 

He’s cute, puttering around with probably the most adorable scowl Kent has ever seen. He works efficiently. Lays out his ingredients after grabbing what he needs from the fridge. He doesn’t check a recipe once, and works crazy quick with strong and sure movements. Kent is mesmerized.

 

Bitty pours himself a cup of coffee and takes a few minutes to calm down and drink some. Kent decides he likes Bitty calm and idle as well. Looking like a work of art with his glowing golden hair and big, soulful eyes.

 

“Now what to fill you with…” Bitty goes to the fridge. Kent hops off the counter and slips in beside Bitty, surveying the possibilities with him.

 

There’s a bag of apples and a plastic container of cherries that Bitty is looking between. Kent reaches out, and manages to get enough of a grip on the cherries to tip them off of the shelf and onto the floor at Bitty’s feet.

 

Bitty jumps, yelping at the phantom movement. Kent watches him look from the floor to the fridge, waiting for his reaction.

 

“Cherries it is,” he says under his breath. Unable to see the ridiculous celly Kent pulls. He loves cherry pie. He isn’t sure how he’s going to get some. But he figures once everyone is sleeping and if he _really_ wants a slice it could happen. Plus, Jack’s favorite is apple, and Kent wasn’t going to let that happen after he was such a dick.

 

Bitty grabs the dough from the counter and puts it in the fridge, before grabbing two bowls and a pointed knife. He starts pitting, pout easing from his face even more as he expertly prepares the cherries. His hands stain red, and his mouth falls open.

 

Kent still watches, feeling calmer then he may have ever felt before. And yet some kind of energy buzzes inside of him.

 

Almost like he’s alive.

 

* * *

 

 

Kent drifts as Bitty keeps baking. Rather, he thinks he does. He’s on the counter, the sounds and smells of baking lulling him into a sleep-like state. It feels like his body almost fades into nothing, the scene in the room grows fuzzy and small and the sound warps like he’s underwater somewhere. Kent can imagine himself lying in bed, watching the scene play on TV while he’s half asleep. It’s peaceful, incredibly so.

 

A darker shadow, and Bob’s voice comes up beside Bitty. And Kent leans forward, trying to hear the muffled sounds; squints to try and make the world focus again.

 

He can hear what he thinks is Bob’s voice, and Bitty’s lilting voice responding. Kent feels like he’s waking up from the deepest sleep he’s ever been in. He tries to listen even harder.

 

“—I keep you here forever?” Bob is laughing, Bitty’s small chuckles beside him. He can make out the careful movements of Bitty’s pale hands brandishing a knife.

 

“—be back in just a few days. You two will still be here, right?” The bubble surrounding Kent pops and the return of clarity

 

“Yeah, Jack is getting pretty anxious to get home though.”

 

Bob nods, lips pursing. “I understand… I—I never meant to upset him… I know that this situation isn’t ideal. And, I suppose I probably should have told him that I stayed in contact with Kent.”

 

“But he’s so weird about that whole thing you just don’t know what to say or do about it,” Bitty sighs with understanding.

 

Bitty pauses his work cutting dough. “I don’t think he’s… He’s mad. He is. But I think there’s more of that due to recent events than he wants to admit. He’s not… himself lately.”

 

Bob watches Bitty re-cut the strips before doing a very delicate braid with them. “I’ll see you in a few days, Eric.” Bob pulls himself away and Kent listens for the shut of the front door before looking back at Bitty.

 

Bitty is staring at the pie in front of him, half done but already beautiful. He takes a deep breath, slowly blinking his eyes like he’s pushing himself through whatever is in his head. His hands twitch, but don’t move. And the pout returns, this time sad and helpless.

 

Kent can’t have this. Can’t have such a beautiful man looking so upset and distraught. He hops off the counter and starts to look around for some way to cheer the poor man up. However, aside from knocking things off the counter he isn’t sure what he could do.

 

The Zimmermann kitchen does still have a thin radio hanging from one of the cabinets. Kent reaches out for it, focuses the determination to cheer Bitty up into the action and flicks the switch to on.

 

Bitty jumps as a DJs obnoxious voice fills the kitchen. Once he realizes the sound is coming from the radio he stares at it in confusion.

 

A mellow, but fast-paced beat follows the Dj, and Kent smiles. It’s a good song, and pop radio seems to be up Bitty’s alley. Kent dances, knowing that Bitty won’t see but still trying to lighten the mood.

 

Bitty goes to the radio and fiddles around, changing the station until he finds one playing Whitney Houston. He goes back to his pie, face still scrunched with thought. Kent huffs, but doesn’t give up.

 

He grins himself, and starts dancing, singing along with Whitney. He thinks happy things and thinks about smoothing out the wrinkles in Bitty’s forehead. Running his thumb over his pink lips and the pale freckles on his cheek. He pictures Bitty’s brilliant smile Kent’s seen online and in flashes, splitting across Bitty’s face and lighting up the room.

 

Bitty starts humming along, and bopping his hip. He finishes his lattices and slips the pie in the oven. And when he straightens up he’s singing along fully.

 

“I’ve been in love and lost my senses! Spinnin’ through the town…” Bitty’s voice is nice, and he manages to dance while gathering the dishes to the sink. He runs the water and grabs soap and a sponge. Voice growing louder and more confident.

 

“ _I need a man who’ll take a chance on a love that’ll burn hot enough to last…”_ Kent sings with him, standing at the sink as well.

 

Kent thinks he’s a good singer. He’s no Whitney Houston, of course, but he’s better than average. A childhood of church choir is to thank for that. Not that Bitty can hear.

 

“To hold me in his _arms!”_ Bitty’s grinning now, and doing more dancing than washing. He sings uninhibited, thinking he’s alone. Kent does the same.

 

“I need a man who’ll take a chance on a love that’ll burn hot enough to last…” Kent belts out with him. Bitty throws his arms out with the line.

 

Bitty’s voice fades, and he drops the wooden spoon in his hand. Without missing a beat, Kent snatches it out of the air and poses with it like it’s a microphone. “So when the night falls… My lonely heart calls!” he rings out, dragging the note out as strong as he can but coming nowhere near Whitney Houston’s raw power.

 

“ _Oh,_ I wanna dance…” Kent stops and looks at Bitty, who’s stopped singing. Who’s staring at him. One hand clutching his heart and the other steadying himself on the edge of the sink. His eyes are wide and his face is pale.

 

Kent gasps, and drops the spoon.

 

“Bitty?”

 

Jack walks in, sweaty and still looking like the cover of a magazine and Bitty whips around with a scream.

 

“Je _sus_ , Mary and Joseph!”

 

Jack doesn’t notice Kent. Focused on Bitty with concern.

 

“Jesus, honey, you startled me. Christ.”

 

“Are you okay, Bits?” Jack steps forward, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

 

A loud, flat laugh punches itself out of Bitty. He rubs his eyes, “Yeah, I… I was in my own little world I guess.”

 

Jack glances at the oven, “Cherry?”

 

“Yeah, I, uh, know it’s not your favorite.”

 

“It smells delicious.” Jack flashes a smile. “I’m sorry about before.”

 

Bitty sighs, “Me too. I pushed too hard. I’m sorry. You already said you were going to go calm down.”

 

“You were right. I think we should maybe talk more. Or maybe I should see when Dr. Halco’s available.” Jack fidgets a little, obviously nervous.

 

Kent watches, feeling like if he moves he’ll somehow disrupt everything.

 

“You know I’m always here for you,” Bitty whispers. Stepping closer to Jack and leaning his head up to kiss him on the jaw. “As best as I can. I have your back.”

 

“Thanks, Bits… I’d hug you, but…” Jack chuckles. And Bitty pushes him away with a playful grimace, his smile shining through.

 

“You _dirty_ boy. Go get washed up!” He flicks sudsy water at Jack, and Jack laughs as he walks away. Kent relaxes, the terrified Bitty from before long gone and the tension eased. “Do you want a slice of pie when it’s ready?”

 

“Uh, sure…” Jack stops and stares at the oven. “Y’know, cherry was Kent’s favorite.”

 

Bitty’s mouth falls open. “Oh!”

 

Jack smiles and leaves. As soon as Jack rounds the corner Bitty is turning on his heels and staring right at where Kent is standing; but Kent can tell by the way his eyes look through him that he isn’t visible to Bitty anymore.

 

Which is probably Kent’s doing. He feels nervous, like he’d throw up if he could. Bitty is looking around for him, wildly turning about.

 

Kent backs up, afraid for Bitty so see him again.

 

Bitty stills once Kent has made it to the doorway. He stares at the oven. “Cherry pie…” he says under his breath. Kent slips away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So when the night falls  
> My lonely heart calls  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eH3giaIzONA
> 
> Next:  
> Will Bob succeed in his mission to save Kit? What baked good will Bitty make next? For whom? Is Kent just as insufferable as a ghost?


	3. Wear your halo like a hat, that's the latest fashion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for playful bickering with a sexual undertone?? i promise everyone is safe and having fun
> 
> i live for the possibilities of a bitty/kent friendship they bring out the bitch in each other and i fucking love it

Bob takes the wrong turn about 3 times trying to get to Kent’s condo building. Once he manages to find the damn place, parking and sneaking inside is easy. It’s only when he gets to Kent’s door does he realize his mistake.

 

He doesn’t have a key. And he has no way to get in.

 

Bob tries the doorknob, no luck.

 

“Excuse me?” He looks to the young woman standing in the hallway.

 

“Can I he—Holy balls, you’re Bad Bob!” she shouts, jaw falling open.

 

Bob grins, “Hello! I’m Bob.” He extends his hand, and she basically lets him flop her arm around when he shakes her hand.

 

“Sam,” she chokes out.

 

Bob nods at the door, “Do you have a key?”

 

“Uhm, yes? But…”

 

“I need to get inside,” Bob explains, “For the cat.”

 

“Kit? Wh-What are you doing with Kit?” Sam seems to get a hold of herself, brow furrowing. “No one told me that someone was coming for Kit. The lawyer said it was up to me.”

 

“Uhm, well… No one would have told you, I suppose. But… I really did know Kent. He, uh, told me he wanted me to take Kit. If he... uh, died.” It wasn’t a _lie_ , really. Kent _had_ told him to take care of Kit. It just happened to occur after he died.

 

Sam stares at him for a moment, then goes to unlock the door. “I… suppose you can come in.”

 

“Thank you!” Bob follows her inside, and shivers slightly as he steps inside the chilly apartment.

 

“The AC must be broken, it’s so cold in here,” Sam says, mostly to herself. “So, you knew Kent?”

 

Before Bob can answer Kit runs up to her and she scoops the cat up into her arms. Bob hesitates, because he realizes that Kit is _huge_. An adorable, 20-pound killing machine in a rug of silky grey fur.

 

Bob swallows his hesitation about the miniature cougar and takes a moment to look around. The place looks straight out of a magazine, Kent hadn’t added much of his own personal touch after the decorator was done. There are pictures hanging in the hall and some plants in the living room. Plus, a bed and a small tower for Kit in the corner.

 

“I knew him,” Bob says, smiling at the array of small succulents Kent had in mismatched, roughly made little planters. “He was… sort of like a second son to me.”

 

“I knew that you two had met, but—“ Bob turns to look at Sam, where she’s sitting on the couch, Kit on her lap—“he never said you _knew_ each other.” She frowns at him, looking apprehensive.

 

Bob nodded, “He played with my son in Juniors.”

  
  
“I knew that,” Sam says, thoughtful. “He really wanted you to take Kit?”

 

“Really, really!” Bob grinned, “I, uh, I like cats. And… me and my wife are mostly retired, so we have plenty of time to… and plenty of money.”

 

Sam nods, lips pursed. “Yeah, yeah I suppose… But…”

  
  
“I promise you, Kit could not be in better hands!” Bob held out his hands, like he was going to show her how great they were for taking care of cats or something. After a moment he awkwardly tucked them back into his pockets, “Was there anyone else who--?”

 

“No,” Sam said. “No one else for her to go to. So… I suppose she’s yours.”

 

“Great!” Bob said.

 

Sam sighs and gets to her feet, “I mean, I can’t think of a reason for you to come and _lie_ about it… I’ll help you gather her things.”

 

Sam helps Bob pack up Kit’s things, the whole time rambling on and on about what Kit likes and doesn’t likes. What scares her, past injuries and illnesses. Stories about her attacking small dogs and scratching the hell out of Kent when he tried to put her in a ballerina outfit.

 

“She doesn’t mind hats, for some reason.” Sam’s voice is fond as she scratches under Kit’s chin. “Sweaters are a no go.”

 

“Well, what’s the point then, eh?” Bob jokes. Sam chuckles.

 

“Yeah, I’m gonna miss this little goblin.”

 

Bob bites back the joke about Sam’s word choice, sensing now is not the time.

 

“Just… call me if you decide she’s too much alright? Don’t take her to a shelter.” Sam straightens up, eyes wet.

 

“Of course,” Bob promises.

 

“Here. Here’s my number. Text me if you need help or something. I mean it.”

 

“Thank you.” Bob tentatively hugs Sam back when she suddenly wraps her arms around him. She gives Kit one more long goodbye, and leaves.

 

Bob looks down at Kit once she’s gone. The diva is sprawled on the floor and blinking up innocently at Bob. He smiles at her, “Well! Guess we should find a hotel, eh?” The last thing Bob wants to do is stay in a dead person’s apartment, that’s all kinds of wrong. Alicia would call him superstitious, but he figured she knew what she was getting in to. 

 

Before he even has his phone pulled out Kit is up on her feet and yowling, racing down the hallway and slamming her body into the door at the end of it. Bob winces, afraid the door might actually give way.

 

“Kit?” Bob follows, passes a bathroom, a room with some free weights, a bookshelf, and a desk. He realizes that Kent was living quite modestly, and that Kit is desperately trying to get into the bedroom.

 

He shivers at the end of the hallway, the air feeling chill. Bob is definitely not going in there.

 

“Come on, Kit.” He tries just calling her. But she keeps yowling and scratching at the door. Sticking her paws beneath it and trying to shimmy through the gap.

 

“Kit…” Bob leans down and picks her up. Grunting as he does. Kent would have been in shape just by carrying her around all day.

 

Kit’s still trying to claw her way to the door, yowling pitifully. And Bob can’t say no to her crying. He sighs, and opens the door.

 

Kit leaps onto the ground and hurries inside. Bob follows more hesitantly, and gasps when he spots a figure at the window. Kit, unafraid, dances around the persons feet, purring loud enough for Bob to hear across the room.

 

With shaky hand, Bob reaches for the light switch and flicks it on.

 

The figure remains, and in the warm light Bob can see a blond head of unruly hair.

 

“ _Crisse_ , I almost shit myself. _Kent_!” Bob scolds, walking into the room. “Don’t scare me like that!”

 

Kent turns and grins at him, crouching down to pet Kit. Bob falls onto the bed, heart still pounding.

 

“Here I am, trying to respect the dead and you just want to fuck with me.”

 

Bob watches as Kent straightens up and goes to the bookshelf in the corner. He doesn’t move to grab anything, just stares. He glances at Bob once, then looks back to the shelf.

 

“Is there something you need?” Bob murmurs, getting back to his feet and walking forward. Kent stays in place, staring at a particularly large book on the shelf.

 

Bob reaches around and grabs it, making a small noise of surprise when one side starts to open. Once he’s got the whole thing out he turns it right side up.

 

“A hide-away box?” He looks at Kent, who has a nervous furrow in his brows.

 

Bob goes back to the bed and puts the box on his lap, opening it delicately. Inside is an array of paper scraps. He pulls the first one out.

 

“Oh, Kent…” It’s a picture of Jack and Kent, posing with the Memorial Cup. They look so young, and Kent has the biggest grin Bob may have ever seen him have.

 

He chuckles, “Look at you, eh?” Kent is beside him on the bed now looking at the pictures with Bob.

 

There are more of Kent and Jack. Jack looking back at the camera, the ocean behind him and wind forcing his eyes shut and pulling at his hair. A few strips of photos from a photo booth. One of Jack in the Zimmermann basement, curled up in blankets and mid-laugh. Two tickets to a zoo. A picture of Kent with a bird on his shoulder gaping at it.

 

Bob doesn’t say anything, feeling out of place looking at the Kent’s precious memories right in front of his disembodied soul. He shifts, so he can lay them all out for Kent to see as well.

 

He gets to a picture of Kent and Alicia. Alicia in a gown and Kent in a suit and tie. They’re posing, Alicia like a professional and Kent valiantly trying to look like a model. “I remember this.” They were bringing Kent to the end of the year banquet. His parents were doing… something else. As they always were.

 

One of Kent with Bob, Alicia, and Jack. All of them posed together on the pond in the backyard, looking like a family.

 

Bob looks at Kent, “Why were these hidden in the book shelf?”

 

Kent’s face screws up into a grimace. Bob continues.

 

A photo of a young Kent and his mother, a small, cluttered room around them as they sit on a bare mattress. Light shines in, illuminating their blond hair. Kent is grinning, like before. His round face almost all smile.

 

“You were a cute kid,” Bob says. Kent’s shoulders shrug. Bob puts the photo on the pile.

 

There’s a tiny hospital bracelet with Kent’s name on it. And a tarnished diamond ring with the gem missing.

 

“Grandmother’s?” Bob asks. Kent nods. Bob reaches into the box for the final thing.

 

It’s a small, crudely made velvet satchel. Bob wonders if Kent made it himself, gently holding it in his hand. The maroon fabric is soft. It’s heavy, and whatever’s inside is cold. He reaches for the silver drawstring, but stops himself and looks at Kent.

 

Kent looks nervous, staring at the satchel. Bob sets it down, “I won’t open it.”

 

Instantly, Kent relaxes a bit. He takes a deep breath, and Bob can actually hear the shuddering sound of it.

 

“Well, alright. Do you want me to… give these to someone?” Bob replaces the satchel and pictures into the box. “Your parents, maybe?”

 

Kent shakes his head, and glares at one of the pictures of he and Jack with the Memorial cup. Slowly, he reaches out and shuts the lid, then lightly presses the box into Bob’s lap.

 

“Me?” Bob says, “I—I can give it to Jack?”

 

Kent shrugs, and removes his hand, looking away from him.

 

“Alright, Kent. I’ll take it.” Bob adjusts his hands on the box. “Are there other things that you want me to take care of?”

 

Kent’s eyes linger on the photos for a moment, then flick up to his dresser. A neat little tray lays atop it beside a frame of Kent and the Aces with the cup. A very nice wrist watch, and two rings lay in it. Bob can tell from the bed that they’re cup rings.

 

Bob smiles back at Kent, “Who do you want to have those?”

 

Kent blushed a little. His brows furrowed and his mouth turned down into a little frown. He looked like a kid again, with such a pouty expression. Eventually, he nodded at Bob.

 

“Alright then,” Bob chuckled. “I’ll take good care of them.” Bob gets up and goes to the dresser, carefully puts the two rings in the hide-away box and gently closes the lid.

 

“Are you sure you don’t want your parents to have these things, Kent?” Bob asked again. “I’m sure your mother would—“ Before Bob can finish a chill fills the room, and something sends Kit running back towards the living room with a yowl.

 

Bob spins around, his heart pounding in his chest. Kent is gone though, and all that’s left is a lingering feeling of rage that raises the hair on the back of Bob’s neck.

 

“Kent?” he calls out, his voice incredibly small.

 

All there is in response is a crash from the hallway. The sound makes Bob jump, and he’s risking a heart attack if his heart beats any harder or faster than this. He hopes whatever that was it was Kit. Knocking a plant over or something. That’s definitely it.

 

Bob takes a deep breath, and then another. Even if it was some kind of ghostly activity. This is Kent. Kent wouldn’t do anything to hurt him.

 

He walks forward, box safe under his arm, and peeks into the hallway. Kit is crouched at the very end, staring at him. She meows, and swishes her tail about. In the middle of the hallway there’s a fallen picture.

 

“ _Crisse_ ,” he breaths out. Fear leaving him in nervous laughter. “Was that you, Kit? Or Kent?” Bob carries on, bending down to pick up the frame.

 

It’s a wedding picture from Katherine and Elliot’s wedding, now cracked into almost obscurity. They’re sitting side by side, with a 7-year-old Kent between them. Kent grins, covered in freckles with big eyes and unruly blond hair. Bob chuckles.

 

“You were a cute kid,” he says aloud.

 

* * *

 

The blueberry cobbler is perfect. Bitty isn’t sure if it’s an appropriate thing to bring to a grieving mother, but it’s better than nothing. And it’s perfect.

 

He wraps up the pretty white dish Jack had bought with a heavy cloth napkin. When the folds don’t come out perfect he unwraps it all and starts again.

 

“It looked great before,” Jack mumbles.

 

Bitty sighs, “I just want them to like me. I don’t wanna make a bad impression.”

 

“I mean, you don’t have to worry about it so much. We’re not gonna see them often, or at all.” Jack slides of the stool and comes around the island to wrap Bitty up in a hug.

 

“I just want to make her… feel better,” Bitty admits. “I can’t even _begin_ to imagine what she’s going through right now.”

 

Jack hums, holding onto Bitty a little longer. “I’m sure she’ll appreciate the gesture.”

 

“What’s she like?” Bitty asks, pulling away to re-wrap his cobbler.

 

“She’s odd,” Jack says. “Katherine’s always frazzled. She’s… always on the edge of a breakdown. Like, any little thing that goes wrong seems to be the end of the world for her.”

 

Bitty finishes the wrapping, _finally_ to his satisfaction. “I mean, if I was Kent’s mother I’d probably be frazzled too.” As soon as the words come out of his mouth he freezes.

 

“I—I didn’t mean…”

 

Jack bumps him with his hip, “It’s fine, Bits. It’s funny.”

 

“It’s not very _tasteful_.” Bitty scrunches up his mouth, “My Momma would whoop my grown butt for saying something like that.”

 

“Kent was never a fan of tasteful. He’d appreciate it. Don’t feel bad.”

  
Bitty sighs and lets it go, fiddling with the cobbler. He can’t seem to get the image of Kent out of his mind. Standing right beside him with his head thrown back, catching the spoon out of the air and using it as a microphone to silently belt along with Whitney Houston.

 

“Hey.” Jack’s gentle voice pulled him from his thoughts. “You okay?”

 

“Hmm?” Bitty leaned his head into Jack’s shoulder. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… I don’t know. This is…”

 

“I know.” Jack wrapped Bitty up in his arms, “It’s been a lot these past couple days.”

 

Bitty hugs Jack back, clamping down his tale of Kent singing in the kitchen. A few feet from where they’re now standing. He’s not sure Jack would take that well. Considering how stressful the past days have been for him. Hell, the past few weeks. Jack’s probably right anyways. He’s always right about when Bitty is stressed out or depressed or having some sort of breakdown. Sometimes it’s frustrating having someone so in tune to his mannerisms and habits.

 

As much as Bitty wants to believe he’s invincible. He’s probably more stressed and affected by Kent’s death then he had processed so far. Not to mention the season and the injury that preceded it. Bitty pulls away from Jack’s hug, settled on the apparition being nothing but stress and fatigue.

 

“You’re right, Sweetpea. It’s been a wild ride these past few days.” He smiles up at Jack, then turns when he notices Alicia has come back into the kitchen.

 

He opens his mouth to greet her, and freezes when he realizes it’s Kent.

 

Kent makes a face and points a finger to his mouth, looking over Jack and Bitty and pretending to retch.

 

“What are you looking at?” Jack turns to look as well. Bitty lets him, and watches closely for Jack’s reaction.

 

But there is none. He looks back at Bitty, worry darkening his features, “What’s wrong?”

 

Bitty studies his face for a second longer, then forces a smile. “Nothing. Why would something be wrong?”

 

Jack stares back, frown deepening. “Are you okay? Are you feeling well?”

 

“I’m fine! I’m great!” Bitty waves Jack’s worries away with his hand. “I am going to freshen up a bit before we go, though. I’ll be right back.” He tries not to walk away too fast or give away that he’s freaking out. Jack’s got enough to worry about at the time.

 

Up in Jack’s old room, Bitty shuts the door behind him and leans against the door. He closes his eyes and takes deep breaths like Jack taught him. Holding in as much as he can and letting it out slowly. It does wonders, and he laments that not a single person thought to teach the trick to him before.

 

He’s calm, and sure that the second apparition is still stress and fatigue and worry and all the emotions of late reaching a peak. Bitty takes one last breath and opens his eyes.

 

“Oh, for the love of _fuck!_ ”

 

Kent is smirking at him, lounging on the bed like an asshole.

 

Bitty glares at him, hands on his hips, head tilted. “So you’re real.”

 

Kent shrugs and keeps smirking.

 

“Are you going to continue tormenting people even after death? Because I don’t appreciate that.” Bitty huffs.

 

Kent puts a hand over his heart to go along with his ridiculous pout. Bitty is not having it.

 

He crosses his arms, and levels Kent with a serious glare, “You’re not here to haunt me are you? Jealous because Jack and I are together?”

 

Kent rolls his eyes and flops onto his back.

 

“Well, if you _are_ haunting me you’re doing a sorry job. Don’t see how singing Whitney Houston is scary.” Bitty lifts his chin and glares down at Kent.

 

Kent just obnoxiously turns his head to smirk back at Bitty, hair falling into his face. He blows it out of his eyes, and Bitty finds it frustratingly endearing.

 

He scoffs and goes to his luggage, pulling out a nicer shirt and sweater to go over it. Kent watches him, a happy smile on his lips. Bitty can’t help but glance at him every so often, and every time Kent meets his eyes and grins. Just like Jack does when he’s been caught staring.

 

Bitty takes off his flannel and reaches to pull his v-neck over his head. He stops just in time and looks at Kent expectantly.

 

Kent raises his eyebrows and even goes so far as to bite his bottom lip through his smirk.

 

Bitty hesitates. He’s not afraid to be naked in front of others, sports and locker rooms and all. But this is _Kent_ , and Bitty isn’t sure if he’s comfortable with Kent seeing him in anything less than 3 layers of clothing. But also, Kent is _dead_. So does it even count? _But also,_ he’s lying on the bed with suggestive look on his face.

 

Eventually, Bitty sighs and continues in pulling off the shirt, giving Kent a flat look as he folds the shirt back up and sets in his luggage. Kent doesn’t bother hiding the way he looks Bitty up and down, stifling laughter.

 

“Ridiculous. Sexual harassment from a ghost.” Bitty turns around to continue dressing, ignoring the happy, silent giggle Kent had been in and the unavoidable flutter in Bitty’s heart such a pure show of joy could cause.

 

When he’s dressed, he turns back around, and takes in Kent again. He’s sat up, legs tucked under himself and is looking at Bitty quizzically. He points at Bitty’s new shirt, still frowning.

 

“ _I’m_ going to see your grieving mother. Since you’re wasting your after-life bothering me.” Bitty grabs his toiletry bag and pulls out a small bottle of cologne, dabbing just a little on his collar.

 

Kent grimaces. Looking genuinely upset by Bitty’s comment. It makes Bitty recoil a little, perhaps he had overstepped.

 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend,” Bitty said. Kent looked up at him, brows furrowed. “I don’t know your mama… yet.”

 

Kent’s face goes thoughtful and calm, looking at Bitty with a soft look that makes him blush.

 

“Could she see you?” Bitty asks.

 

Kent shrugs.

 

“She’d probably like that.”

 

Kent scowls and shakes his head.

 

“Do you not want to see her?” Bitty presses. He takes a seat next to Kent. He can feel Kent’s weight dip the bed, and a chill coming off him. Kent doesn’t breathe, or make any sound beside him.

 

“Mama and I _used_ to be real close. And I probably couldn’t imagine not liking your own mother then. But now… I came out, and now she doesn’t ever seem to want to talk to me. And I—“ Bitty clears his throat, “—I don’t know if I’d want to see her. Y’know, if I was a ghost. Talking to her now just… causes me stress.”

 

Kent doesn’t speak of course, but he lifts his hand and places it on Bitty’s hand.

 

Bitty gasps at the touch, because it’s not warm like a living persons would be. But cold like the floor in the morning when your feet first touch it, and yet Bitty still finds the gesture comforting. When he looks up from Kent’s hand he sees that the man is smiling at him. A soft, small smile. Genuine.

 

Bitty smiles back.

 

* * *

 

Bitty’s jaw drops when they get to the Parson home. “It’s even bigger than yours!” he whispers to Jack, clutching the cobbler close.

 

Jack chuckles, “Yeah, Kent’s step-dad... uh, I’m not exactly sure what he does, but he’s rich.”

 

Alicia and Jack don’t seem fazed, and Bitty does his best to hide the awe on his face. It’d be rude to gawk at the Parsons' house in front of them.

 

“Mrs. Parson won’t care that we’re together, right?” Bitty whispers as Alicia rings the doorbell.

 

“No, she probably won’t say anything about it. But she won’t _mind_. She knew about Kent.” Jack furrows his brow. Bitty seemed to be the only one thinking about being in the closet anymore. Jack had renewed his contract with the Falcs as far out as it would go with and immediately stopped giving a fuck.

 

“Really? I wouldn’t think that Kent would tell her.” Bitty knows it’s a mistake as soon as he says it and Jack gives him a confused look.

 

“Um… well, Mrs. Parson walked in on us once.”

 

“All of Canada has walked in on Jack and Kent together once. I swear, you two were like rabbits,” Alicia quips.

 

“ _Mama_ , we were 16... And we were only ever making out,” Jack grumbles.

 

“I’m surprised you two aren’t jumping each other every time I turn my back.” Alicia looks back and gives Bitty a wink, “I suppose, there was that one night..."

 

Jack and Bitty are thoroughly red-faced when all six feet and an half inch of Katherine Parson opens the door. Her grey eyes sweep over them, wide and haunted. Bitty tries not to look up too much, but she is _tall_. And her make-up and bun are _perfect_. And she reminds him of the strict mothers back in Georgia who made his Mama look like a fairy godmother.

 

“Oh,” she says, voice calm and soft, “You’re here.” She opens the door more and steps aside to let them in. “Welcome.”

 

“It’s been so long since we’ve properly got to talk, Katherine!” Alicia smiles, unwrapping her scarf. “You know Jack of course; this is his boyfriend Eric.”

 

“Oh,” Katherine looks at them, “Hello. I’m Katherine.”

 

Alicia puts a hand on Katherine’s arm, “How you holding up?”

 

Katherine slowly turns her head to look down at Alicia, her lip starting to quiver and face screwing up with emotion. “Alicia,” Katherine says, voice cracking and tears bursting from her eyes.

 

“Oh, sweetie.” Alicia opens her arms and somehow Katherine fits within them. Holding her friend close and sobbing into her shoulder.

 

Bitty glances at Jack, who gives him a sad look and tangles their fingers together.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wear your halo like a hat, that's like the latest fashion  
> I got angels all around me they keep me surrounded
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eedeXTWZUn8
> 
> Up next the most awkward interaction ever, featuring Katherine Parson.
> 
> my tumblr: r0wdie.tumblr.com :)


	4. But tonight, I'm cleaning out my closet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: for casual homophobia from Kent's mom (what a ridiculous statement homophobia as a whole is a violent act HOWEVER she is just denying is sexuality and idk
> 
> TW: discussion of The Overdose and some talk of death (which, i mean, considering the fic that might be every chapter...)
> 
> also? tw for Bad Bob being a fucking sap?? i love this man and i hc that he has made it his personal mission to adopt the entire NHL
> 
> She wont see this but thanks to my mom for being the best beta reader ever

The Parson home is even grander on the inside. The ceilings go up forever. The furnishings look straight out of 80’s catalogs. Bitty tries not to ogle as he deposits the cobbler in the kitchen, and just about dies when he sees the equipment in there. He has to walk through a grand dining room before he can get to the “sun room” as Katherine called it. Bitty’s never even been in one of those.

 

Katherine is on a rather uncomfortable looking couch, crying quietly and occasionally dabbing her eyes with a tissue. Alicia took a spot right beside her, one hand on Katherine’s knee and the other holding a box of tissues in her lap.

 

Bitty falters in the doorway, unsure if he should even be in the room with Katherine so distraught. Jack is sitting across from them, hunched over and scratching his head. Bitty takes a step to sit by him, and a blonde head of hair in the corner catches his eye.

 

A very young and grumpy looking Kent is standing there. Watching Bitty. He’s leaning against the wall, scowling like a delinquent. Bitty rolls his eyes and goes to take his seat beside Jack.

 

“Most of the time I don’t even remember that he’s… gone,” Katherine says, voice incredibly quiet. She’s folding her tissue into smaller and smaller squares, from the corner of his eye Bitty can see Jack stare at the action. “Then I’ll be doing something and it’ll hit me! I was in the shower the other day and I just… couldn’t stop crying. I—I—I know it’s ridiculous.”

 

“No,” Alicia lifts her hand to her back, “It is not ridiculous. You’re going through something no parent should have to go through.”

 

Jack reaches for Bitty’s hand and squeezes it tight.

 

“I keep wanting to call him. Kent never called enough. And if I knew he was going to die, I would have called him more. I always told him to call. Why didn’t I just call him?” Katherine’s face scrunches up, and she starts to sob again. Gentle, gasping sounds that sound more like mild hiccups.

 

Bitty forces himself not to look when Kent huffs and falls onto the couch beside him in a heap. He tries to remind himself that he has no idea what Kent’s relationship with his mother was like, but can’t resist shooting the boy a reproachful look in an attempt to get him to behave.

 

Alicia lets go of the tissues and brings her other hand to wrap around Katherine. “You couldn’t have known, Katherine. If Kent had known he might have called more too. You can’t beat yourself up over that.”

 

“I was such a bad mom!” she cries.

 

Bitty fidgets in his seat again. He knew better than to expect anything else but a little crying when Alicia told him Katherine had invited himself and the Zimmermann’s to her home at the funeral, but he can’t help but think that he and Jack shouldn’t be here. Surely Katherine would like some privacy? Kent is pulling at his sleeve, before sighing again and getting to his feet and walking around.

 

“I’m sorry,” Katherine says suddenly, sensing the tension in the room herself. She daintily wipes her eyes with the tissue. “Like I said, it just… It comes out of nowhere.”

 

“It’s fine, Katherine,” Alicia says. Eric still tries not to look at Kent peering out the window.

 

Katherine takes a few deep breaths, smoothing out her blouse and skirt. “I’m being an awful host. Now… Eric, tell me about yourself.”

 

Eric straightens up and blinks at her, stunned. “Oh! Um, well…”

 

“We played hockey together at Samwell,” Jack buts in. “Eric graduated last spring.”

 

Katherine smiles, “Oh, how sweet. What did you major in?”

 

“American Studies, ma’am. I minored in Communication.”

 

“That sounds wonderful. Did you enjoy your time at Samwell? Alicia has told me so many wonderful stories from then.” Katherine stares at him, studying him. He feels like he’s being picked apart in her gray gaze.

 

Bitty feels like some sort of specimen under her misty gaze. “Uh, yes ma’am.”

 

“I never went to college. I barely finished high school. Kent was born right after I graduated.” Katherine sighed, “Sometimes I wish I would have gone, but I would have never met Elliot then!”

 

Bitty smiles and nods along, hanging on tight to Jack’s hand. Now that he’s not staring at the rug his eyes wander around the huge room a bit more. And out of the corner of his eye he can see Kent, standing on the stairs now; round, pale face crammed against the rails of the bannister.

 

“How are you doing, Jack?” Katherine’s face grows concerned as she tears her eyes away from Bitty, “Thank you for coming to the funeral. It would have meant so much to Kent. I know you two weren’t close anymore.” Bitty glances at Kent again. He looks even younger. Maybe 10 or 9.

 

Jack straightens up a bit, “Of course, Katherine. I, uh, I’m doing okay.”

 

“Good, that’s good.” She looks back to Alicia smiling, “How about we continue this over some tea? Maybe some of that cobbler Eric made?”

“That’s a great idea!” Alicia says, standing up and leading the way to the kitchen. “Eric’s the one I’ve told you about with the baking vlog? He’s a miracle-worker, I swear.”

 

Jack is quick to follow and Bitty gets up with them. As he stands he makes eye contact with Kent again. Kent rolls his eyes and tromps down the stairs to follow them.

 

* * *

  

Katherine takes a seat at the table in the breakfast nook, and lets Alicia start a kettle for tea. Bitty goes to his cobbler. Food is good, it breaks the ice and makes people happy. He can help with food.

 

“How long have you two been together?” Katherine asks, and Jack shuffles to a chair and takes a seat beside her.

 

“Um, over two years now.”

 

Katherine makes a sound half-way between a laugh and a sob. “That long? Are you two thinking about getting married?”

 

Alicia hands Bitty a knife to cut the cobbler and laughs, “Don’t give them ideas Katherine.”

 

Bitty laughs along with them, and glances at Jack who looks as though he may pass out. He’s suddenly aware of Kent beside him, practically pressed up to his side to get a peek at what he’s cutting.

 

“I, um, don’t—No, we haven’t really talked about it seriously yet,” Jack’s face is thoroughly pink and Bitty can’t help but think that he’s a little adorable all flustered.

 

Bitty plates up some of the cobbler and brings the first plate to Katherine. “No, Jack hasn’t made an honest man of me yet!”  
  
Katherine and Alicia laugh, and Jack looks a bit more at ease. Bitty gives him a wink.

 

“I wish Kent had gotten married. I think I must have pushed him too hard to find a nice girl to take care of him. I just hated the idea of him getting up to god knows what with the parties and all those clubs in Vegas.” Katherine stares at her lap, blinking away fresh tears.

 

Bitty dares to glance at Kent as he plates more of the cobbler. Based off the few awkward conversations Bitty and Kent had, Kent was exclusively into men. Katherine could have pushed until her back gave out and Bitty doesn’t think that she would have seen Kent married to a woman.

 

“Can you believe I’ll never be a Grandmother?” Katherine laughs a little. Wiping at the corner of her eye.

 

The room is still quiet, Jack, Alicia, and Bitty all making awkward eye contact.

 

“I’m sorry,” Katherine says. “I don’t mean to be depressing.”

 

“It’s alright, Katherine,” Alicia assures her, “I’d rather you say what’s on your mind then keep it all in. That’s not good for you.” Bitty forces himself to act normal and sits at the table with his own plate of cobbler. He tries to give Jack a smile, but Jack’s got his eyes fixed down.

Katherine nods, and takes a bite of the cobbler.

 

“Mmm,” she moans. “This is _divine_ , Eric. How do you do it?”

 

Bitty brightens up. Food is safe, food doesn’t do anything but help. “I just use fresh fruit and make sure it ain’t too sweet, ma’am! Like my Moo-Maw taught me.”

  
“This is amazing, Eric. Thank you so much. You should have your own bakery!”

 

“Oh, I don’t know about that. It’s really just a hobby, I’m no professional.”

 

Katherine gives him a soft look and takes another bite of cobbler. When Bitty goes for a sip of his tea he catches Jack looking at him as well, smiling fondly.

 

“Have you thought about going to see someone?” Alicia asks softly, breaking the silence.

 

“Oh, no. I don’t need that,” Katherine waves her hand to dismiss the idea, “I’m doing okay. It’ll just take time, I know that.”

 

Alicia takes a sip of her tea, mouth pursed but not pushing the issue. “How’s Elliot taking it?”

 

She takes a long sip of tea before answering the question. “You know Elliot and Kent never had the best relationship. But Elliot loved him like a son.”

 

Bitty glances at Kent, who is leaning against the kitchen wall and staring at his feet.

 

“We haven’t… talked much since. He’s been gone or holed up in his study. I don’t know how he’s doing. We—We haven’t talked.”

 

Alicia hums and purses her lips, brows furrowed into a serious look. “Are you worried?”

 

Katherine shrugs, shaking her head and looking on the verge of tears again. “Mostly, I’m just lonely,” she says.

 

Bitty looks up for Kent again, but he’s gone.

 

“So, Eric, what do you do beside bake?”

 

* * *

  

By the time they leave Katherine has thoroughly interrogated Bitty and he feels drained. Jack is giving him little smirks as they gather by the door, the fucker. When they leave she gives Jack and Bitty both bone-crushing hugs.

 

Bitty feels dazed as they walk to the car, doesn’t say anything as he climbs in, opting for the backseat behind Alicia.

 

Jack falters at the passenger side, ultimately deciding on the front beside his mother.

 

“It’s safe to say she liked you!” Alicia says, buckling her seatbelt. “Although, who wouldn’t.”

 

Jack smirks, “I tell him that all the time.”

 

“There have been _plenty_ of people who haven’t liked me in my life. Thank you very much.” It’s mostly the lack of energy and resulting bad mood, but Bitty can’t help but feel irked. It’s not an irrational fear he has considering the circumstances of his childhood.

 

Jack backs off though, and Alicia changes the subject.

 

“I can’t believe that man! Not talking to his wife after she’s lost her only child.” She backs out of the driveway so fast Bitty clutches the door, and peels down the street. “Elliot has always been a piece of shit, though.”

 

For a second Jack almost looks scared, eyes wide and deep frown on his face. Questions burn on the tip of Bitty’s tongue, but he bites them back. Obviously this is not the place.

 

“When did they get married?” Bitty asks instead. He’s got to quench his curiosity somehow.

 

“Kent was seven, I think,” Jack says, “So a little over two decades ago.”

 

“Hm,” Bitt hums, “Does Mrs. Parson work?”

 

Alicia snorts, speeding up for a yellow light, “No. Elliot wouldn’t let her. She claims she’s never wanted to but there’s still the whole thing with him _telling_ her not to. Bob and I had _one_ conversation about working. And it was him telling me he didn’t think he could give up hockey and then me telling him I couldn’t give up my work and we both laughed and… y’know.”

 

Jack makes a face.

 

Alicia laughs, “Don’t look at me like that, Jackie!”

 

Jack smiles after that, and glances back at Bitty. Bitty smiles back, stomach still in knots.

 

* * *

  

Bob’s heart is breaking from the sad look on Kit’s face through the bars of her carrier. She’s mewling pitifully in the backseat of the cab with him. He’d let her out if the cabbie didn’t already look pissed by her noises.

 

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Bob whispers. “Almost home.”

 

The ride home is long, and the fare is big, but Bob can’t help but breathe easy in relief. He has an extra bag of Kit’s essentials—ultimately deciding to ship the other things Sam insisted he take—and with her carrier his hands are completely full.

 

Jack opening the door for him before he gets up to the top step and Bob sighs in relief. Happy to see his son and happy that he doesn’t have to struggle with the door.

 

“Is that a whole extra bag?” Jack says, closing the door as Bob untangles his fingers from the carrier, luggage, carry-on and extra duffel.

 

“Nice to see you too, son,” Bob chirps. Leaning down and opening Kit’s carrier. She slowly peeks her head out, staying in her carrier.

 

Bob peers at her. “You were so eager to get out of there before.”

“She’s never been here before, you have to give her time to acclimate,” Jack says. Like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

 

“I _know_ that, I just figured she’d want to get out of the damn thing.” Kit comes out when Bob straightens up, hurrying away from them.

 

“You need to pick a place for her to have her own so she can get comfortable.” Jack gives Bob a bored look, like he isn’t some sort of expert on cats now.

 

Bob smirks, “You looked that up.”

 

“No…”

 

“You looked up how to take care of a cat and what to do. Didn’t you?”

 

Jack just glares at him. Bob knows better than to push.

 

“I knew all that. Like I said, she’s been in that carrier forever I wanted to get her out of there.” He goes to the bathroom with the duffel and starts setting up the room like Sam told him to. Making sure there’s nothing she can get into or hurt herself on. Jack wanders over to watch him finish up.

 

“Did you just turn on a nightlight?” Jack asks.

 

“I don’t want her to be scared!”

 

“She’s a cat, Papa!”

 

“Alright, cat-whisperer.”

 

They stand awkwardly in the hall for a moment, watching Kit wander around a little bit at the end of it.

 

“Do we put her in there?” Bob asks.

 

“I don’t think so…” Jack says. “We should go and let her figure things out, I think.”

 

Bob leads the way to the kitchen, grabbing what he needs for a PB&J while Jack sits.

 

“How was Vegas?” Jack says.

 

“I really only saw the airport and Kent’s apartment,” he admits, “But it’s sure a hell of a lot warmer down there.”

 

Jack doesn’t respond right of way, and when Bob glances at him he looks half asleep. Sweatshirt pulled up around his neck and flannel pants too big for him, hunched over the table. The sight reminds Bob of a much younger Jack. Kept up late by anxiety and nightmares. Finding Jack crying in the middle of the night. Bob would bring him down to the kitchen for a snack and a chat then, too. And the rough mornings after were always worth knowing his son was able to sleep a little easier.

 

“How was Katherine?” Bob asks.

 

Jack makes an odd sound. “She’s… the same. I don’t know. It was really uncomfortable.”

 

Bob goes to the table and sets down a sandwich and a glass of milk in front of Jack. “Smooth peanut butter, like you like.” His has crunchy peanut butter. He hadn’t passed down all of his good taste.

  
Jack looks a bit surprised, but thanks Bob and doesn’t hesitate to eat. Bob sits and joins him with his own.

 

“She cried a lot,” Jack says, swallowing down a large bite. “She was sobbing with Mom, and I just… I felt like I shouldn’t have been there. But also it was weird because…” Jack falters.

 

“I’m sorry,” he says eventually, “For scaring you like I did.”

 

Bob feels like he shouldn’t have a mouth full of PB&J for this moment, but his life never really went the way he thought it would anyway. He finishes chewing and swallows.

  
“You don’t need to apologize for anything, Jack.”

 

Jack shrugs, “I always assumed you and Mom were just disappointed. That’s why you were so upset. I mean— _Rationally_ , I know you aren’t disappointed in me.” He cuts Bob off before he’s even begun. “But I never went back and reconciled your reactions with worry and… _love_ until I saw Katherine crying.”

 

“I was worried,” Bob says, unsure of what else to say. “I was more than worried. I was terrified. I—I can’t imagine what Katherine is going through. Even after everything that happened. But still, Jack. I don’t want you to feel guilty. ”

 

They finish their sandwiches in silence. Then Jack speaks again.

 

“Katherine really liked Bitty.”

 

“Did Bitty bake something for her?”

 

Jack laughs into his milk, prompting Bob to giggle a little as well.

 

Jack is quiet for a beat. “You talked to him a lot?” he asks, voice quiet.

 

Bob nods.

 

“You were… there for him after everything happened?”

 

Bob takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry I never told you. It didn’t seem like a good idea at first and then… I mean we barely talked about Kent. I didn’t feel like I could just bring it up.”

 

Jack stares at his lap, “I’m sorry I got angry before. I was just surprised and already emotional.”

 

Bob smiles, “I’m sorry that I hid it from you. You probably did deserve to know.”

 

“I would have asked you to stop,” Jack sighs, “I’m glad you didn’t.”

 

“I wouldn’t have listened,” Bob says with a smirk. “But I still shouldn’t have lied to you.”

 

Jack shrugs, and gets up to put his dishes in the sink. “I’m going to go to bed; thanks, Papa…”

 

Bob gets up and wraps Jack up in a hug, taking a moment to feel his son’s warmth and the way his chest expands as he breaths. Solid. Alive. Bob forces himself to let him go and says his goodnights.

 

Before he goes upstairs he sneaks into the downstairs hallway, peeking into the bathroom to check on Kit.

 

With the soft, orange light on he can see her curled into the nest he made in the tub, as well as Kent, curled up and softly petting her fur. Looking peaceful and younger than he’s looked in a decade.

 

* * *

 

Alicia wakes up to strong arms holding her tight. She smiles and reaches back to pat Bob on the shoulder. “I missed you,” she says.

 

Bob lets out a long breath and kisses her on the top of the head.

 

“How was Vegas?” She turns in his arms so she can snuggle closer to him, resting her head on his broad chest.

 

“Oh, y’know, Vegas,” Bob says. His voice is completely devoid of sleep or humor. It makes Alicia open her eyes and look up at him in the dark.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

Bob loosens her a bit, adjusts himself so he’s at a better distance for conversation. “Do you believe in ghosts, Al?”

 

Alicia bites down the urge to laugh, sensing the seriousness of his question. She sighs and reaches a hand out to cup his cheek. “No, Bob. I don’t.”

 

Bob makes a disappointed noise.

 

“Are you seeing things, dear?”

 

“No,” Bob retorts, quick and firm.

 

“Bobby…”

 

They lie in silence for a moment. Bob’s arms loosely wrapped around Alicia, Alicia’s hands stroking Bob’s cheek. She doesn’t know what to say. Should she call a therapist? Drag Bob kicking and screaming to see one? (Ironic, considering how eager Bob was to find Jack the best of the best therapist so long ago.)

 

“Remember when Jack first met Kent?” Alicia asks, “And he called home and was downright _cagey_ about him?”

 

Bob remains quiet.

 

“I could tell he liked this kid, platonically or otherwise. I was so worried he was bad news. A felon with a face tattoo or something!”

 

Bob starts to chuckle, and before Alicia knows it it he’s wheezing.

 

“Baby-faced 16-year-old with a face tattoo,” Bob gasps out, “Why a face tattoo, Al?!”

 

“Well, I wasn’t _sure_ it was a face tattoo. I was just picturing some delinquent.”

 

“That’s sort of accurate,” Bob says, holding her close again.

 

Alicia scoffed, “Kent and I both prefer _misunderstood_.”

 

Bob bursts out laughing again. “You and Kent,” he says, “such divas!”

 

“Shh, Bobby!” Alicia giggles, “You’re going to wake up Jack and Bitty.”

 

With a grin Alicia doesn’t have to see to know it’s there Bob pulls her flush against him. Giggling. “We could _wake them up_. Make up for the second night they were here.”

 

“Stop, don’t be petty.” She turns away to keep her mind off of the idea, lying on her back and looking at the dark ceiling. “We should probably go to sleep.”

 

“Mmm.”

 

“I have to go grocery shopping tomorrow. Maybe I’ll make Bitty come with me. Take him out shopping.”

 

“Don’t leave me with Jack,” Bob whines. “He’s already sick of me, you know that.”

 

“You two can come but you better not slow us down.”

 

Bob hums, scooting closer to Alicia and resting his head on her shoulder. Easy silence falls over them yet again for a moment. Until both are unsure if the other is fully awake or asleep yet.

 

“Remember the first time Jack brought Kent home for a break?” Alicia finally says, words coming out thicker then she intended. “He was so--…”

 

“Obnoxious?” Bob grunts.

 

“No.”

 

“… Ostentatious?”

 

“No, Bob. Christ.” She lightly slaps him on the arm.

 

“What were you going to say?”

 

Alicia hesitates…

 

“Lonely.”

 

Bob doesn’t respond at first, stays still and silent so long Alicia starts to get annoyed with him. When he does speak his voice is quiet.

 

“Oh,” he exclaims, softly. “He was, wasn’t he?”

 

Alicia rolls her eyes, “You musclehead.”

 

“Yep,” Bob lifts up to kiss her on the cheek, “Just a humble hockey player.”

 

She laughs and leans in to give him a proper kiss on the lips.

 

“Are you okay, Bobby?” she whispers one last time.

 

He nods and kisses her back in response.

 

* * *

 

 The first thing Jack thinks to himself when he wakes up is how is usual sleep schedule is officially out the window from the last few days and how much of a pain getting back into his (abridged) training schedule will be. And how much he doesn’t care and how guilty that makes him feel.

 

Even so, he lingers in bed. Bitty is gone, and he can’t hear anything from downstairs. Maybe he’ll just close his eyes and sleep longer since everyone’s already doing their own thing. Since he’s incapacitated with this goddamn wrist…

 

He does close his eyes, but he doesn’t get to sleep because what feels like a small child jumps on his stomach.

 

“Oof!” he jerks up, but it doesn’t dislodge Kit from on top of him. She tip-toes up to his chest and sniffles at his nose.

 

She lays down with a meow, tucking her paws daintily beneath her and looking around the room with a bored expression. Jack lies still for a moment, before reaching a hand up to gently scratch her grey fur.

 

She starts to purr almost instantly, and Jack rests his head back on the pillow. He may need to get himself a cat; if it means warm, fuzzy heaters greeting him in bed in the morning.

 

Bitty is great, but he doesn’t exactly _purr_.

 

Eventually, Jack’s body is screaming at him to get up. Bladder and stomach both unhappy. He very gently urges Kit off of him, then hurries to the bathroom.

 

When he comes back out of the bathroom Kit is watching him in the hall, almost waiting for him. She pads along at his side as Jack heads to the kitchen to make some tea and warm up a piece of pie.

 

Kit sits and stares up at Jack while he eats, occasionally she’ll make a soft (adorable) sound and look around the kitchen before settling back on him.

 

“You’re kind of weird, eh?” Jack mumbles around a mouthful of pie.

 

Kit lets out a short ‘mrow’ in response.

 

Jack slips his phone from his pocket, opening up Instagram and going to the search bar.

 

Kit’s Instagram isn’t at all hard to find, and it’s full. Kent may have spent more time photographing his cat then he did playing hockey. And she is damn photogenic. Even in the one where’s she’s chewing off a mini Parson jersey. Jack likes a picture of Kit with a blue-green bow-tie on and one where she’s sleeping on her back in a pile of laundry.

 

“You’re cute though,” Jack mumbles, finishing off the last of his pie. “I see why Kent was so obsessed.”

 

Kit finally gets up and trots away, apparently finished with Jack. He chuckles and watches her go, before putting his plate in the sink. He starts to make himself another mug of tea, but just as he’s about to pour the water he hears a crash from the other room. His heart sinks.

 

Jack runs to the living room. Terrified that he’s going to find a dead cat on the floor. Christ, it’s been less than 12 hours. What if Kit’s _dead_ and it’s Jack’s fault because he’s _awful_ and the last thing that Kent had left behind is _gone_ and—

 

Kit isn’t dead. She is lying on the floor, in the middle of executing a mouse toy, but pausing to blink up at Jack. A few feet from her a lamp lies on the floor, the lightbulb shattered.

 

“ _Merde_ ,” Jack huffs, his heart still racing. He gives Kit a glare as he walks past her, but she just goes back to tossing her mouse in the air and pouncing on it.

 

Jack rights the lamp and picks up the larger pieces of glass and the base to throw away. He pauses as he does, scared to leave Kit with broken glass in the carpet. What if she eats it? Or rolls in it?

 

While he’s frozen in place Kit’s mouse toy goes flying into the other room and she races after it. Jack blinks after her for a moment, stunned that she managed to fling it that far, then hurries to throw the shards away and get the vacuum before she starts playing in the living room again.

 

* * *

 

 Kent spends most of his time with Jack knocking things over and pushing furniture, getting better at doing it as well; but Jack barely even flinches. He goes between watching animal documentaries with so much focus _Kent’s_ head hurts and playing with Kit lazily. Not hearing Kent bang around the house and knock things over. Occasionally, when Jack gets up for the bathroom or kitchen he’ll notice something amiss, and right it with a shrug.

 

Kent actually bangs his head against the wall a few times. Jack barely glances up from his tea.

 

When the others get back Kent is star-fished on the floor, lamenting over just how frustrating Jack Zimmermann can be. And how god damn thick his skull is.

  
He rolls out of the way, a little concerned that someone may trip over him, until he’s tucked against the wall and can press his forehead against it and close his eyes.

 

Dying was _supposed_ to be peaceful. Kent was supposed to be _done_ with this bullshit.

 

Why is he still here?

 

The Zimmermann’s plus Bittle move to the kitchen to get lunch ready. Kent rolls back onto his back and enters a staring contest with Kit.

 

What is the point to all this?

 

“Maybe I’m doomed to this,” Kent says to her. “Forever trying to get fucking Zimmermann’s attention.”

 

She looks away from him, and Kent takes that as a sign that he’s being ridiculous. As he usually is. Especially when about Jack. Good old Kit for a reality check.

 

Kent huffs out a heavy sigh, unable to pull up the motivation to get off of the floor. He takes another deep breath and closes his eyes, easily sleeping into that hazy place where he can rest.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry Mama, I never meant to hurt you  
> Never meant to make you cry, but tonight,  
> I'm cleaning out my closet
> 
>  
> 
> (Link TW: Child abuse) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RQ9_TKayu9s
> 
> (to summarize the link: its Eminem's "Cleanin' Out My Closet" which is about his experience of severe abuse at the hands of his mother. idk if yall are actually watching these but this one needs to be explained for... rhetorical reasons.... ......
> 
> r0wdie.tumblr.com  
> also find me on twitter @hella_rowdy


	5. All I Worship and adore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shoutout to this chapter for carrying us to the next part of plot
> 
> Note: i updated a major tag on the fic that yall should heed

_Spring, 2017_

Mutual friends are a bitch, Kent has decided.

 

He’s got a box of store bought brownies in his hands, his fingers jittering against the plastic; and laid out in front of him are about a dozen beautiful, gourmet creations done by one E. R. Bittle. Why did Kent even bring brownies? He _knew_ Jack and Eric would be at this party. He _knows_ Eric sold his soul for baking and cooking prowess. He’s so fucking _stup—_

 

“Hi, Kent.”

 

Kent doesn’t _like_ mature, emotionally adjusted Jack. Who can look at him like one would a day-old doughnut no one wants. Well, shit, no. He’s _happy_ that Jack is happy. Overjoyed, even. But he’s still a mess and he feels so inferior when Jack gives him the casual little smirk.

 

“Hi, Jack,” he sighs. Kent is so, so tired. “Hey, Eric.”

 

Eric smiles at him, bright and shining, “Brownies?”

 

Kent looks down at the brownies. He’s pathetic.

 

“They look great!” Eric says, “I’m excited to have some.”

 

The worst part is Eric’s being so genuine. He certainly will try one of Kent’s store-bought brownies later.

 

Kent escapes Jack and Eric as fast as possible and keeps himself busy the rest of the night by staying as far away from them as possible. He’d like nothing more than to be able to go mill about the pool table with Jack, or to be able to listen to the story Eric is telling. But he bombed that bridge.

 

Miller was Kent’s rookie first, before being traded to Providence. And now Kent can see how well he fits in here. How well Miller does with a house and as an adult.

 

“Thanks for coming, Parser,” Miller is a foot taller than Kent, but still looks at him like Kent made the ground he walks on.

 

“Of course, Mills!” Kent hugs him. Tight. “You let me know if you need something. I am always down for an Ikea trip.”

 

“Are you leaving?”  


“I’m beat man. I’ll be in town though, if you want to get lunch or something.”

 

As Kent is saying his goodbyes, he sees Jack glancing at them. Their eyes meet. Jack nods his head, as though to say goodbye. Kent smiles back.

 

_2020_

They arrive at the airport much too soon for Alicia’s taste. Alicia waits on the sidewalk while Bob and Bitty work on unloading the trunk. Jack tries to help, but is shooed away. Before he can get grumpy Alicia grabs Jack in a hug, locks her hands and squeezes him as tight as she can.

 

“Oof, Mom, easy,” Jack grunts.

 

“I miss you already.” She tugs him down so she can plant a kiss on his cheek. “Promise me you’ll come again soon.”

 

She lets him go with a sigh, and fixes his shirt that she mussed.

 

“Of course, Mom.” He holds up a pinky, “Pinky promise.”

 

Alicia laughs at her sons efforts to indulge her, and holds up her own pinky to lock with Jack’s.

 

“Take care of yourself. No more broken bones.” She does her best to blink away the prick of tears in her eyes.

 

“It was so nice to see you both.” Alicia turns to capture Bitty in a hug, “Anytime, come see us _anytime_.”

 

“We will, Alicia,” Bitty assures her.

 

Bob closes the trunk and sets the last bag on top of Jack’s larger, rolling luggage.

 

“Maybe you can come visit us sometimes,” Bitty says.

 

Alicia bites her tongue about coming for a game and simply reaches a hand up to pat Jack’s cheek. “Call us when you land, please.”

 

“Definitely,” Jack says with a smile.

 

 

Bitty had performed some of his best procrastination work this time.

 

He shoos Jack away from the trunk, not afraid to motion at his wrist and the Falconer blue it’s wrapped in. And then they only have so long before Jack will come back to help them.

 

Bitty grabs the jacket of Bob’s arm. “Bob, I have to tell you something.”

 

Bob freezes while lifting the first bag and looks at Bitty. He glances at Jack and Alicia hugging on the sidewalk, then back at Bitty. “What is wrong, _mon fils_?”

 

“Um, it’s—it’s sounds silly,” Bitty whispers, near frantic. “But, um… I’ve…”

 

“Eric?” Bob leans in closer.

  
“Bob… do you believe in ghosts?”

 

Bitty watches closely as Bob’s eyes widen and his mouth drops open. Bob pulls the bag all the way out of the trunk and sets it on the ground with another glance towards Jack and Alicia.

 

“You’ve seen him, too?” he says to Bitty, certain his wife and son aren’t paying attention.

 

Bitty can barely force himself to say the name, “Kent?”

 

Bob nods.

 

“Oh, thank the Lord. I thought I was going crazy!” A wild laugh lets itself out of Bitty’s chest, high and thin. “I mean, this brings up a whole new batch of questions, too. Oh, and I’ve gone and waited as long as I could…”

 

“It’s alright, Eric,” Bob grabs the last two bags and hands one to Bitty so he can shut the trunk. “We’ll talk about this when you land. Just be grateful that we both haven’t lost it, eh?”

 

Bitty nods and clamps his mouth shut. As soon as he steps on the sidewalk Alicia is wrapping him in a hug and he couldn’t talk more to Bob about it if he wanted to.

 

They say goodbye outside the airport and Bitty feels better now that his secret is shared. Even as he and Jack navigate the busy airport he can’t help but feel at ease.

 

“What’s got you in such a good mood?” Jack chirps as he and Bitty find a seat in the VIP lounge.

 

Bitty shrugs, “Nothing! Just... relieved to be going home.”

 

“You can say that again,” Jack says with a snort. He fiddles with his cast a little. “They mean well…”

 

“Parents can be a bit much sometimes but that’s just what they do!” Bitty leans on him over the chair, “Or, at least what they _should_ do.”

 

“Hey, now,” Jack says, “It’s—“

 

“Don’t,” Bitty whispers, shooting Jack a smile.

 

A word dies in Jack’s throat, then after a moment, he breathes it out and throws an arm over Bitty’s shoulders. “Sorry.”

 

“No need to be sorry, sugar!” Bitty snakes a hand into Jack’s hoodie pocket and snatches a packet of fruit snacks. “It’ll be okay.”

 

“It’ll be okay,” Jack repeats.

 

Bitty chuckles to himself, but just before he’s about to reach in for another fruit snack a lithe hand swoops in before him and snatches a couple of the gummies before he can.

 

Bitty startles and looks to his left, toward the source of the hand.

 

Kent pops the fruit snacks in his mouth and gives Bitty a wink. Bitty glares back.

 

“What’s up, Bud?”

 

“Nothing,” Bitty shakes himself and takes a deep breath. “It’ll be okay.”

 

_Home is such a blessing_ , Jack thinks, as he collapses onto his bed. He hadn’t planned on it but he’s thinking about a little siesta right here on the bed. A brief, well-deserved, incredibly refreshing…

 

Jack’s phone rings just as he’s closed his eyes. He groans—loudly—Into the mattress. Bitty chuckles at him from the laundry room down the hall.

 

“Hello?”

 

“ _Hey, kid, how you doing_?”

 

“Ça va,” Jack mumbles to Marty. The older man launches into a run-down of what Jack has missed over the Christmas break and the extra few days he took to stay for Kent’s funeral. As tired as he is he must admit that knowing that the team is doing well without him there is a relief.

 

Jack watches Bitty come back into the room to unpack the rest of their luggage. “I’ll be back around tomorrow. Can’t do everything but…” The French slips off of Jack’s tongue in slurred sentences. Bitty glances over his shoulder from where he’s putting clothes away to give Jack _that_ smirk.

 

Jack tries to ignore the Pavlovian response his body undergoes to finish his conversation with Marty.

 

“Yeah, kid, that’s fine. Um, hey, uh... Sorry, to hear about Parson. I know you were… friends.”

  
Jack winces. Friends, maybe. Wrapping up that whole thing as complicated was a lot easier thing to do. A lot easier to think about when Kent was still alive too.

 

“Thanks,” Jack murmurs.

 

“Let me know if you need to talk at all, eh?”

 

“Of course.” Marty says goodbye after that, and Jack lets his phone fall to the mattress. Followed by his head.

 

“Can you finally pay attention to your boyfriend?” Bitty pounces onto the bed, leaving the luggage on the dresser and leaning over Jack to lock their lips together. Jack doesn’t answer until Bitty trails kisses to his jaw, then his neck.

 

“Marty was filling me in,” Jack breathes.

 

“Mmhmm,” Bitty hummed, keeping up his vampire act.

 

Jack sighs and rolls them over so he can pin Bitty under him and keep him contained. “What has gotten in to you!” he says.

 

“We’ve been at your parents for over a week!” Bitty giggles, “And we had sex _once_ that whole time…”

 

“ _Crisse,_ ” Jack whispers, leaning down to kiss Bitty again. “You’ll be the death of me.”

 

Bitty scoffs, “You’re quite the one to talk, Mr. Zimmermann.”

 

Jack can’t help but kiss him when Bitty calls him that.

 

 

Jack gets up from the bed, for some reason having set an alarm. Bitty figures he should get up from their nap as well. But he’d much rather sleep, all nice and warm in the blankets—

 

Or, his phone will buzz on the nightstand.

 

Bitty makes a small little groan and reaches for it.

 

Bob (8:02): _R u alone?_

 

Bitty stares at the text from Bob for a second, having trouble comprehending it.

 

Bitty (8:03): _Yes_

Bitty (8:03): _Why?_

 

His phone buzzes with an incoming call as an answer. Bitty double checks over his shoulder that Jack is still in the kitchen and answers.

 

“Hello?” he whispers.

 

Bob is also speaking soft on the other hand, “ _Eric, how are you doing?”_  


“Um, fine, uh, is—is this about--…”

 

_“Kent? Yes, it is. Have you—Oh, hi, my darling. Who’s my sweet little kitty?”_

 

“Bob? Is—Is that Alicia?”

 

_“Eh? No. It’s Kit. Here. Say hi.”_

 

Eric sits on the other end of the line, dumbfounded, as he can only presume that Bob is holding up the cell phone to a _cat_. He can hear the slightest ‘mrow’ followed by light purring through the phone.

 

“Bob. Jack is going to come check on me.”

 

_“She misses you, I think.”_

“I doubt it, Bob. She hardly met me.”

 

_“I think she likes you because Kent likes you.”_

“I’m not sure Kent likes me, so much as he’s stuck with me.” Bitty gets up and heads to the bathroom.

 

 _“And Kit,”_ Bob says, voice muffled by something, _“You see him too, right baby?”_

“Bob.”

 

_“Of course, you’re right. She’s just so cute! Isn’t that right, ma petite nuée de tonnerre?”_

 

“Little… Bob—We should talk about the fact that we’re seeing ghosts regularly.”

 

 _“Yes, you’re right. I googled ghosts, and this sight says Kent’s…_ subtle body _has turned to one of evil.”_

Bitty wants to laugh, but really he isn’t sure he can disregard any theory at this point, “What?”

 

_“Another site says that some spirits don’t realize they’re dead.”_

“Kent knows. Why else would he get you to take care of Kit.”

 

_“It’s also possible he’s confused about his death. Because it was maybe abrupt or violent.”_

“I’d say both of those apply. You saw the crash photos,” Bitty sighs, running a hand through his greasy hair. His lips curl at the feel.

 

_“A person may remain in our world if they don’t  believe in an afterlife? Which, obviously for Kent.”_

 

“Wasn’t he Catholic?” Bitty questions.

 

Bob just laughs, “ _His_ parents _are Catholic, my dear. But I don’t think that’s it. Jealousy?”_

 

Bitty laughs this time.

 

_“Bitterness.”_

 

Another snort.

 

_“Eric, be nice. The deceased could be guilty of something?”_

Bitty chews on that. He isn’t sure that being an absolute douche is bad enough to be damned to wander the earth as a ghost for eternity.

 

 _“We can keep that one in mind,”_ Bob says, _“Deceased may choose to stay. As well as stay due to their loves ones not letting them go._ ”

 

Immediately, Bitty thinks of Jack. His soft ‘oh’ after Bob told him. The way he seemed confused and disorientated and the funeral. His continued focus on his injury.

 

“It could be anything,” Bitty says, not missing the defeated tone in his voice, “So many different possibilities. I’m sure he didn’t tell you everything! What if it has to do with his mother? Or his step-dad? That woman is so… weird. I’m sure she has secrets she’ll take to the grave. And why can I see him?! I hardly knew him! I met him once officially and gave him a nod some other time. Why is he haunting _me_?!”

 

Bitty lets out a deep breath after his tangent. “I’m sorry. I’m just… worried about him.”

 

Bob was quiet for a moment, _“I don’t know, Eric. I don’t know why Kent is a ghost. And I don’t know why only we can see him. I don’t know why he had to die in the first place. I don’t understand why... Why he was driving in that damn storm. Why he had—“_ Bob cuts off. And Bitty listens in rapt silence as Bob swears and takes a deep shuddering breath.

_“I don’t know a lot of things, Eric,”_ Bob’s voice shakes with tears as he speaks. _“But I know that we need to do something about this. He’s been through enough. He deserves peace.”_

Eric wipes at the sudden wet in his eyes. He hadn’t thought of it like that. Mostly it had just not occurred to him that Kent was gone. Seeing him and communicating with him had distracted him enough from the accident and the truth. Kent was dead. Nothing more than a disembodied spirit unable to move on.

 

“What if there isn’t peace, Bob?” Bitty asks. “What if Kent is stuck here, forever?”

 

Bob doesn’t hesitate with his response, _“We’ll know that’s the case when we’ve done all we can for him.”_

 

It’s such a _Zimmermann_ thing to say, Bitty can only think.

 

“I should go, Bob. We’ll talk soon.”

 

 _“Bye, Eric._ ”

 

Eric’s hands shake when he hangs up the phone. He ignores it, and sits down on the edge of the tub.

 

Jack knocks on the door before practically barging in and making Bitty jump.

 

“Jesus, Jack,” he curses.

 

“I have to pee.” Jack pecks Bitty on the cheek while he slips past him to the toilet. “Who were you talking to?”

 

“Lardo,” Bitty says, the lie coming so easily off his tongue it burns. He can feel his Mama’s glare on the back of his neck all the way from Georgia. “Just making sure we got in alright.”

Jack nods, “I should send her the pictures I took. There’s a real good one of Mom and Papa on the pond.”

 

“I want to see them too!” Bitty pulls out his facewash and quickly scrubs it into his skin, “You didn’t show me any.”

 

Jack chuckles and finishes up on the toilet, hip checking Bitty to wash his hands at the sink. “I had to do something with my wrist in this fucking thing. I feel like one of those dogs with those cones on their head.”

 

Bitty bursts out into giggles, “You’re cute.”

 

Jack presses a kiss to the hair behind his ear, “You’re cuter.”

 

“That’s gay,” Bitty chirps as Jack walks away. He hears Jack’s happy laugh all the way down the hall to the kitchen. Bitty washes off his cleanser and brushes his teeth before following him.

 

Jack is starting a pot of coffee in the kitchen; and Bitty only pauses for a second when he sees Kent sitting on the counter, swinging his feet like a little kid.

 

Kent looks up when Bitty walks in, giving him a smirk. Bitty glares back. Why does every look on this boy’s face got to be straight from the devil?

 

“What are we doing today, sugar?” Bitty pecks Jack on the cheek, keeping his eyes locked with Kent as he does so. Kent makes a dumb kissy face and wraps his arms around himself. Bitty rolls his eyes.

 

“I’m gonna go to skate. Georgia said—“

 

“Mr.Zimmermann!” Bitty gasps.

 

“Trainer said that once the break heals a bit I can get a special cast that allows me to play as long as I’m careful.” Jack sounds like he’s prepared this speech, so surely he’s thought of every argument Bitty has against this.

 

In the corner, Kent is rolling his eyes before hopping off the counter and sauntering in to the living room. Bitty only spares him a glance, still feeling like his anxieties are worth airing out. “And what if you do something worse to it?”

 

Jack snorts, “It’s in a cast, Bits.” Kent makes something clatter in the living room, Jack doesn’t seem to notice and Bitty forces himself not to look.

 

“I would _not_ like to see it hold up against a slap shot, Jack.” Bitty accepts his coffee with a whispered ‘thanks hun’ and takes a sip, “It’s your body, Jack. I would just appreciate you taking better care of it for me.”

 

Jack chuckled and dug his toe into Bitty’s shin, “I know I’m just a hot young thing for your enjoyment.”

 

“Young. Ha.” Bitty kicks him back. “But seriously, Jack. Please be careful. Don’t go throwing punches and being Superman out there.”

 

Jack sighs and pulls out a tin of oats from the cabinet. “I’ll be careful,” he scooped some oats in a bowl, “I’m always careful.”

 

“Boy, don’t start,” Bitty hip checks him, getting him back from earlier. He leans in close and presses a kiss to Jack’s cheek. “I’ll have a late lunch ready for you when you get back. You have to leave soon?”

 

“I’ve got time for breakfast,” Jack replies.

 

 

Alicia used to think her house was too big, and empty. It seemed like every time she was home, Bob was gone. Jack was either at school or hockey, and even when they were home together he was so quiet. The house in Montreal never felt full unless they were all there, which was rare. It was the same in Pittsburg.

 

Now, with Bob and all of their friends retired, she can’t seem to get a moment of peace. An empty house is a blessing.

 

She’s chin deep in a bubble bath and halfway through a large glass of wine when she hears Bob get home. He calls out for her.

 

“I’m in here,” she says as Bob enters the master bedroom. She can hear him rustling about with his clothes. Kit pads into the bathroom and sprawls out on her side on the soft bathmat. The heated tiles have quickly become her favorite place in the house.

 

“ _Ah,_ my ladies.” Bob grins at them as he enters the bathroom. He sits on the tiled edge of the tub and takes Alicia’s extended hand to press a soft kiss to her knuckle.

 

“How are you?”

 

“Okay,” she says, still feeling raw and hollowed out.

 

Bob nods and leans down to stroke Kit’s exposed side. She makes a small chirp, permissing the act.

 

“How was Howard?” Alicia asks.

 

“Fine, fine. Everything seems to run so smoothly over there. I just had a few things I wanted them to change around with schedules. Small fixes.”

 

“Mm,” Alicia hums, she reaches for her wine. Bob goes back to kissing her hand, trailing up the soft flesh of her arm.

 

“We’re going over to the Parsons’ for dinner.”

 

The kisses stop, and Bob looks up at Alicia.

 

“Pourqoui?”

 

Alicia rolls his eyes, “They invited us. Their son just died. I didn’t have a good reason to say no.”

 

She takes another sip.

 

“Should I continue?”

 

Bob lets out a sigh and gets back to his feet. Alicia grabs his hand before he manages to go. “I’ll make it up to both of us when we get home.” She winks, and he continues lurking to the bedroom.

 

Alicia watches him go, then glances at Kit and shakes her head. “Boys,” she huffs.

 

Kit blinks in response.

 

 

Bitty stalks into the living room as soon as Jack leaves, fists on his hips and scowl twisting his handsome face. Kent waggles his fingers at him in a wave from where he’s sprawled on the couch.

 

“Alright, Mr. Parson… I don’t know why you’re here. But we’re findin’ you some peace.”

 

Kent’s mouth opens in a punctuated laugh.

 

“Don’t look at me like that. I mean business.” Bitty pushes Kent’s legs off the couch—a little surprised by how strong they feel—and plops down on the couch.

 

“Do you know why you’re here?” Bitty asks.

 

Kent purses his lips, his eyes looking at nothing for a moment. Eventually, he shakes his head.

 

“Is there anything you want to tell me, Kent?” And Bitty looks earnest now. Brows furrowing and lip pouting.

 

God he’s cute.

 

Kent looks away.

 

“You can tell me, hun. I want to help you… I know—I know we never were close when you were living but, but I’m honored you came to me for help. And I want to help you.” From the corner of his eye Kent can see that Bitty is still watching him, studying him.

 

Kent levels with him and stares.

 

Bitty huffs, “One second.”

 

While Bitty runs off Kent turns to the TV, in the past few weeks he’s been able to turn on lights and wake phones up. And the TV comes easy too. He flicks it on and off for a second and E! is on.

 

Bitty hurries back in, hands full. He’s got three blue candles, each one a different size, and a box of matches. He pulls a bobby pin out of his pocket and starts carving into them.

 

Real Housewives of New Jersey is playing by the time Bitty is done fiddling.

 

“Kent, come sit on the floor.”

 

Kent slides onto the floor without looking away from the screen. He only looks at Bitty again when the man mutes the TV. The candles are lit. Kent waggles his eyebrows and scoots closer to Bitty.

 

“This is a meditation session not a candle lit dinner, Kenneth.” He sits across from Kent, crossing his legs as well. “Just sit, and… breathe.”

 

Kent snorts.

 

“Okay, maybe not breathe, but just. Relax. Let your mind empty.”

 

Kent rolls his eyes, but plays along. He straightens his back, takes what feels like a breath, and closes his eyes.

 

This all sounds like every other time Kent tried going to therapy, only to not return when it ended up being an hour of breathing exercises and him talking to himself. Bitty seems determined though, and being dead does wonder for stress. He lets himself drift a little.

 

Until he’s being poked.

 

He peeks an eye open. Bitty is pursuing his lips and poking his shoulder.

 

“Hmm,” Bitty says. “I thought maybe some good old candle magic would work.”

 

“Ok, well.” Bitty drops his head in his hands, adorable elbows propped on his adorable knees, “What do I gotta do to help, Kent?”

 

Kent shrugs. How should he know?

 

“You know you’re dead.” It’s a statement not a question.

 

Kent nods anyways.

 

“You know it was a car crash? You were driving outside Boston.”

 

Kent remembers. He nods.

 

Bitty sighs, “I don’t know, Kent.”

 

As they sit Kent can hear the crackle of the candles, traffic outside, and winter wind raging on the building. He studies Eric. Wonders why Eric can see him. Why Eric is going to help him. Why Eric would even bother.

 

“I’m going to make some turnovers,” Eric declares out of the blue. He gets up and moves the candles to the dining room table, leaving them burning, “Come keep me company.”

 

He ducks into the kitchen without looking back at Kent once. And soon the sounds of dishes being taken out can be heard.

 

Kent gets up and follows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5hxibHJOE5E come cry with me come cry come cry come cry


End file.
